


Vacation or Escape

by wordsphoenix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, alternating perspective every four chapters surprise, begrudging proximity, draco has ocd, harry has anxiety, lots of spending time in the muggle world, or lack thereof, ridiculous plans, the two of them decide to go on a vacation simultaneously and see who goes mad and leaves first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-03-16 10:04:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13634061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsphoenix/pseuds/wordsphoenix
Summary: Harry hasn't had a particularly fantastic few years. His obligatory work as the Chosen One doesn't leave much room for figuring out if he actually wants to do anything else. Enter Draco Malfoy, in a muggle bookshop, seeming entirely too friendly. They decide to go to lunch. Harry realizes the solution to both their ills is to get away from everything- from wizarding Britain and its pressures, at least- and, well, how bad of an idea could it really be if they go with each other?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for coming even though this isn't finished. I started at the end and then it hurt too much not to have them running around the world falling in love. Suppose it's a series of ficlets strung together chronologically. I'm aiming for ten chapters.

            “Draco. What are you doing here?”

            Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “I could be asking you the same question. Though I suppose the answer’s kind of self-explanatory.” They were standing in a bookshop. A chain muggle bookshop.

            Which explained Harry’s surprise whilst making it obvious why Malfoy was there. “Oh. Right. You need a book.”

            “Wouldn’t say ‘need.’ More like want. But yes. I’m here for a book. Presume you are as well?”

            “Yes.”

            “Lovely. So why are you talking to me?”

            Harry blinked. “I- well, I-”

            “Wanted to thank me, return my wand? You already did all that. No need to keep socializing with me.”

            “No, I-” The way Malfoy was talking made it so hard for Harry to think. “I’m not going to walk away just because you’ve answered my question.”

            “Oh.” Malfoy settled into the floor, somewhat, his stance shifting from ready-to-run to lingering. “Are we having a conversation?”

            “Yes. I suppose we are.”

  
            “Wonderful. What are we talking about?”

            Harry sighed. “Nothing we can talk about here.”

            Malfoy cocked his head to the side. “Is that why you used my first name? You actually want to have a conversation?”

            Harry would have wept if he knew the implications of his next words. “Let’s be friends.”

            Malfoy stared. “Friends? You want to be friends with me?”

            “Sure. Why not?”

            Malfoy looked at him for a long moment, sizing him up. Then, “Alright, then. Lunch?”

            It took a solid ten seconds for Harry’s brain to catch up. “Yeah. Right. Meet in Regent’s Park at one on Thursday?”

            “I’ll see you on Thursday,” Draco said.

            “Yeah?” Harry asked, still not believing it.

            “Yeah.”

 

            They sat in the café in the park, sipping respective cups of tea while waiting for the food to arrive. Harry still couldn’t believe he was there, but they’d made it that far, hadn’t they? “So you just work on a temporary basis for people all the time?”

            “Yes. You’ve asked the same question three times. Isn’t it my turn to find out what you do? The chosen path for the Chosen One?”

            Harry groaned. “I thought we weren’t doing that. First names, and everything.”

            “We never agreed to use first names, Potter.”

            “Fine. I don’t care either way. Draco. But.” Harry took a breath. “I don’t do much of anything. I jump around from public appearance to public appearance and spend the rest of my time thinking of ways to keep people away from me. Or, not people, just- the press.”

            “Ahh. Come up with anything good? I’m afraid that’s a problem for me as of late.”

            “Unfortunately not. It’s just a hobby anyway. Not like I have a real- a real anything. It’s all just for show, they- that’s all people seem to need from me.”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “People would be flocking to any project you started.”

            Harry didn’t break eye contact. “So I guess my excuses aren’t good enough, then?”

            “Not by a long shot, Potter.”  
            Harry sighed. “Fine. Fine. I think- I’ve just been trying to get away from everything. Trying to break out of this cycle of press appearances and locking myself in my house for days on end trying to be a mad scientist.”

            “So what do you want, then? To leave?”

            “No, not- I need a vacation.” Harry laughed as he said it. The solution was so obvious, even though it seemed beyond sense; of course he needed a vacation. He needed to be away, to think. “I can’t figure out what I want to do while I’m sitting around here with the press jumping down my throat every ten minutes. It’s distracting, and the events are easy, so I-”

            “Keep going along with it even though something isn’t working?”

            “Exactly.”

            “Sounds familiar.” When Harry looked up, it was to find Draco staring into his teacup. “Temporary work isn’t quite as satisfying as the real job no one will give me.”

            “Hang on.” An idea had just occurred to Harry. A stupid brilliant idea. Malfoy raised his eyebrows, so Harry repeated, “I need a vacation.”

            “Yes?”

            “Have you ever taken a break? From- I don’t know, from being you?”

            “Oh. Oh. No, I…” realization and surprise and admiration were swirling around his expression faster than Harry could keep track of them. “Shite.”

            “I need a vacation,” Harry repeated.

            “Me, too.”

            “So let’s go.”

            Draco looked at him like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Sorry?”

            “Let’s go. You’re rich, I’m rich, the war is over, nobody needs either of us-” Harry still had a hard time believing it, but that was a moot point at the moment, “-so let’s just go.”

            Draco’s expression flickered between various half-submerged emotions before settling on cautious, hopeful challenge. The ease with which Harry could read his face was terrifying and they’d only been talking again for an hour. And Draco was almost smiling. “We’d rip each other’s heads off in the first ten minutes. We’ve had a handful of civil conversations since school, yes, and the one we’re having right now is one of them. And we’re about to eat lunch. But I just mentioned the infliction of severe bodily harm on each other. And it didn’t seem inappropriate.”

            The plan was in Harry’s head before Draco could finish the objection. “So? I mean, yeah, we’d argue a lot, but we’re used to it. I’ve never been out of the UK and you’ve never been out of the wizarding world, so we would sort of need each other. I’m banking on that keeping the severe bodily harm to a minimum.”

            Draco’s face turned thoughtful. “You are right about the apparent mutual dependence. Surprising, but right.”

            Harry decided it’d be better not to point out that the insult hadn’t been necessary; he’d have plenty of time to get on better terms with the arsehole on the trip. Granted he agreed. “What do you say, then? Pack an expandable bag, get a few thousand galleons out of each of our accounts, and fuck off for, I don’t know, a year or so?”

            “A _year_?” If Draco’d looked skeptical before, it was nothing to how he looked now.

            “I don’t think we’ll last that long, either, but it seems like a decent trade-off given the eighteen years both of us’ve spent too deeply involved in- this.” Harry waved a hand for emphasis.

            The hope-caution hybrid expression was back on Draco’s face again, if more cautious than before. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that sounded like a challenge.”

            “It sort of is one. I mean, one of us is eventually going to break, right?”

            “I think you’re underestimating my tolerance for absurdity.”  
            “And I think you’re underestimating mine.” Harry held Draco’s eyes for a long moment.

            Then Draco said, “Okay.”

            “Okay?”

            “Yes. It sounds absolutely horrifying, but the vacation part I actually like. Where are we going first?”

            Their food arrived, giving Harry only a minute to stall. When he was finally obligated to respond, he said, “I don’t know. Shall we see where the portkeys- or the planes, as it were- happen to take us?”

            “That makes it sound as if we’ve no plan at all.”

            Harry grinned.

 

            He couldn’t believe they were doing it. It was ridiculous, absurd in the extreme, absolutely unprecedented.

            And fucking brilliant.

            Harry had spent the week closing everything up. Though Draco seemed keen enough to jump onto a plane immediately after lunch- which, Harry had to admit, was extremely tempting- Harry had decided to do the thoughtful thing for once and place everything on London on hold before up and disappearing.

            It was important no one know where they were going, because if anyone had any clue they’d have the local wizarding papers staking out the travel terminals before Harry and Draco even got there.

            Helpfully enough, neither Harry nor Draco wanted this to be planned before they set foot in the airport. That was another evasive technique: muggle transport. If they stayed out of wizarding areas entirely, at least until they’d made it a few thousand miles away from Britain, the chances of them being found out were slim to none.

            Harry and Draco had agreed to meet up at the airport a week from Thursday. That was it. No meeting, no discussion, no planning. They were meeting at the airport and booking the same flight and fucking off. The figuring out how not to kill each other part would start on their way out of Prophet territory.

            Or, at least, Harry hoped so. Because he really didn’t want to break and had spent the days since his lunch with Draco trying to convince himself it would be a great adventure and that they’d end up being great friends and really how bad could it possibly be if they weren’t alone?

            Well. They were alone with each other. But that was an entirely different issue. Not that Harry was planning on making many friends hopping around the globe and trying to become one with his thoughts. More like he’d have someone to remind him when he was being an idiot and keep an eye on his back because Harry would be doing the same for Draco.

            When Harry met up with Draco at the airport, he began to realize that their nonexistent plan would, more than likely, end in spectacular catastrophe.

            Draco was standing next to a luggage cart with three large rolling suitcases stacked on top of it, a designer jacket (it was February) and sunglasses (it wasn’t sunny) decking him out like some kind of- well- like the prat heir he was, actually.

            And he was talking on a cell phone.

            “No. Of course not. I’ll be staying in the middle of nowhere, Pans, really. It’s like those artist retreats- you know, the ones master painters take to create their next masterworks or whatever?”

            Harry came to a stop a few feet away and set his duffel bag on the ground. He also had a knapsack, but the two pieces of luggage could be compressed in a pinch thanks to a helpful charm Hermione had showed him. She’d been all for the vacation; Harry hadn’t let on how long he’d be gone, and he’d promised to write.

            Draco offered Harry a wave and kept talking. “Yes, exactly. The French countryside. It’ll be quite boring, all- what is it- all off the grid and everything, so I suppose you could send letters addressed only in my name, but I doubt this muggle Floo box thing will work- yes, I know, telephone, I was just- of course I love you. Don’t bother Luna too much, alright? She needs a bit of peace or she’s liable to need a retreat herself. Yes. Alright. Love you, Pans.” He flipped the phone shut. “Sorry. Making excuses. Where’ve you told your people you’re going?”

            “My people?” What, did Draco think Harry had a staff or something?  
            “Your people. Your family, your Grangers and Weasleys and everyone.”

            “Oh.” Harry didn’t know what he expected from a supposedly-reformed Malfoy, but it wasn’t cordiality. “I told them I was going to Scotland.”

            “Amazing. As you’ve just rudely overheard, I’m going to France. I can’t believe we’re leaving on the same day, and from muggle airports no less-”

            Harry caught on to the game Malfoy was playing, but that didn’t mean he was going to let him off for all the luggage. “Yes, right. I’m doing it to avoid the press. But why do you have so many suitcases?”

            Draco whipped off his glasses and stared. “I’m going to the middle of nowhere. How am I going to have a luxury retreat if I don’t bring the luxury?”

            “You have got to be kidding me.”

            “I am. They compress into a small bag,” Draco deadpanned.

            “Wanker,” Harry said.

            “Yes, well.” Draco shrugged. “Some of us enjoy fucking with you. What can I say?” He turned to the departures board. “I’ve actually got a few ideas. Well, not ideas, I didn’t break the unspoken rule about not planning anything, but I mean- I know where I haven’t been, you know?”

            “Yeah. Right.” Harry shook off any reaction he might’ve had for being made the butt of a joke (he was going to have to get used to it) and took a look at the departures board. “Hang on.”

            “Hm?”  
            “What if we just pick a number- like, a flight number or something?”

            “That would work if we knew all the flight numbers. Which, I must point out, we obviously do not.” Surprisingly amiable, recent jabs considered.

            “Hang on then. You know how to use muggle money?”

            Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ve got a bank card.”  
            “Right. And you have a phone. Sorry. Follow me.” Harry picked up his duffel and strode up to the nearest British Airways counter.

            Draco followed leaning on his cart, not seeming particularly bothered by the fact that Harry had taken the initiative or the fact that he was pushing his own ridiculous luggage cart instead of having someone do it for him.

            “Hello. What can I do for you? Checking bags?” the woman at the desk asked, all smiles.

            “No, actually- well, I don’t know what my friend’s doing, but we’ve decided to go on a trip without planning anything so we need plane tickets for somewhere out of the country.”

            The woman stared. “Alright?” She glanced at Draco, then back at Harry, then back and forth again. “Ah. Okay. How can I help you?”

            “We need two tickets to somewhere international- preferably seats near each other, I’ve never flown- and we want it to be a surprise.”

            “I take it you don’t have a price range?”

            Even after years of it Harry still got uncomfortable. “Er- no.”

            “Right. Give me a moment to check flight availability.” The woman began typing rapidly.

            Draco pulled his cart up right next to Harry. “You’ve never flown?”  
            “What? Of course not, I- You have?”

            “Of course. How do you think we avoided the press all those other times?”

            Harry laughed.

            “Don’t judge a Malfoy by his cover, Potter.”

            “What’s that-”

            “Oh, you know very well what-”

            The woman at the desk cleared her throat. Harry and Draco shut up. “Right. Well, I’m pleased to inform you that we have one flight that meets the criteria.”

            “Lovely. When does it take off?” Harry asked.

            “Ten this evening.”

            Draco sighed very loudly.

            “Would you like to know where it’s headed?”  
            “Nope,” Harry said. “We’ll take both tickets.”

            Before the woman could accept more than his muggle ID card, Draco pushed Harry aside and slid her the aforementioned bank card.

            “Hang on! I don’t want to owe you anything!”

            Draco met his eyes. “You won’t. You chose where to go, I’ll choose where we stay. I don’t much care how we pay for this, since we’re both very clearly loaded, but, well, I would prefer as many amenities as are available this time and didn’t want to argue about it.” He turned to the woman. “Are those seats first class?”

            “I’m afraid you’d have to actually purchase flights in advance for that.”

            “Oh. Well. I’m still paying.”

            Harry tried to inflict injury to the side of Draco’s face with a death stare.

            When their tickets were printed, Draco handed Harry’s over and launched into a lecture. “I appreciate the laser eyes and everything, but this is unplanned. Act first or go with it.”

            Harry blinked. He wanted to say something scathing, but Draco actually had a point. The competitive nature of this trip- however little sense it made- rendered that the most logical method. “Fine. But I’m paying for bags.”

            “How long have you been married?” The amused but impatient-looking airline employee asked them.

            Harry dropped his wallet. “We’re not-”

            “Is it that obvious?” Draco asked, bending down to pick up Harry’s wallet and hand it back to him.

            She smirked.

            “I hate you,” Harry decided.

            “You’ll hate me even more once you see where we’re going.”

            Harry glanced down at his ticket, realizing he had yet to check their destination. “This flight’s nine hours!”

            “Good thing you’ll be sitting next to me.”


	2. Chapter 2

            “You know people could be fired for talking like that? I could lodge a complaint.” Harry would never consider it, but the fact that he had been made fun of by Draco and an airline employee at the same time seemed a bit much.

            Draco didn’t open his eyes. “You’re not going to.”

            They were sitting near their gate waiting for their flight to New York. Which still didn’t take off for a few hours but at least they’d had some time for the destination to sink in. Harry sighed. “You’re right, it was hilarious, I’m surprised you went along with it.”

            Draco snorted. “We’re playing rich this leg of the trip.”

“It’s not playing.”       

“So,” Draco continued as if Harry hadn’t spoken, “We may as well go along with it if someone suggests the worst possible scenario imaginable.”

            “Which is marriage?”

            “Right. Exactly. Corrupt institution. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I was napping-”

            “Draco?”

            “Hm?”

            “You should sleep on the flight instead.”

            “Fuck off,” Draco said, but opened his eyes. “There.”

            Willing to listen to reason, at least, Harry thought. “Why did you insist on checking three bags? It costs extra.”

            “I know it’s an excessive expense. I told you, we’re playing rich. Our checking three bags is the only way to explain your luggage tragedy.”

            “Knowing a spell isn’t a tragedy,” Harry muttered. “And I’m not walking around expecting to be worshipped. That’s the point of going away. I _want_ to be a random traveler with a shitty bag.”

            “You can be. On the next leg. This one is about forgetting we were ever under the Ministry’s watch in the first place.”

            Harry blinked. Yes, he was aware the press was tracking his every move, but the Ministry? And Malfoy? They didn’t have a reason to do that to Malfoy anymore. “They’re watching you?”

            “Oh, constantly. Not officially, of course, except that so many officials think it’s their business to take up where people left off before Voldemort came back-”

            “Shh! Someone might hear us!”

            Draco’s eyebrows shot up. He gave the room a once-over and returned his gaze to Harry. “No one’s here yet. They’re all still going through security. And I thought you loved saying ‘Voldemort’ left and right-”

            “Maybe before. But not here. Not when anyone could recognize us because we’re still in London!”

            Draco sighed. “Fine. But I meant what I said. We need a proper vacation, and the best way to start one is pampering.”

            “I don’t want to be pampered. I want to be normal.”

            “You will be. Without the name.”

            Harry sat back and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Right. Normal. Normal and rich. Of course.” He pictured it in his head; his and Malfoy’s overpriced suites, endless hours of sitting and doing nothing and nothing and nothing in pools or near fires or sitting in his room with a book… “Oh.”

            Draco smirked and closed his eyes again. “Now you see it.”

            Harry did not want to be treated like a celebrity, far from it; but the thought of doing nothing with no task hanging over him, relaxing without an obligation hovering in the back of his mind- “I do. Although flashing money is ridiculous and if you do it with more than your nice clothes or overtipping people I might throw a fit.”

            “That’s my husband. Always throwing fits.”

            “Will you cut it out with that? It’s annoying. The whole point of this trip is to see which of us can make it the longest, yeah? Which of us can find ourselves on this mysterious adventure before being driven insane by the other one?” Harry had to admit he preferred Draco’s enthusiastic teasing to his own references to their spotty past. Perhaps it was time for Harry to turn the tables on this friendly joking thing.

            “Exactly. Just like a rich married couple on vacation.”

            “You’re the absolute worst.”

            “Whatever. You won’t be saying that in twenty-four hours.”

            Harry tipped his head back and shut his eyes. “My husband’s a prat.”

            He could hear the smile in Draco’s tone. “Now you’re getting it.”

 

            Since Harry had never been on a plane before, he wasn't particularly looking forward to ten hours in the air; nevertheless, with a few muttered 'the Merlin's arseing Chosen One's and a handful of shoves and Gryffindor comments from Malfoy, he was ready to get on the plane and surrender his safety to muggle technology that he completely trusted anyway.

            "Draco."

            They were standing waiting to board the plane, in line behind a bunch of other people. Draco seemed extremely nonplussed. "Hm?"

            "You have your wand up your sleeve, right? You got one of those sleeve pockets?"

            Draco laughed and placed a hand on Harry's arm, which almost made him jump, and Christ why was Draco willingly touching him? "Of course I do. That's what you've got, isn't it?" Malfoy gave Harry's arm a slight squeeze, and Harry realized he was checking for Harry's wand.

            "Yeah. Of course."

            Malfoy's hand fell away a second later, and Harry tried to hold back a sigh of relief. Physical contact meant nothing- or not nothing, but not much, especially when they were so clearly travelling partners and Harry was so clearly worried out of his mind. Draco had just been trying to be friendly lately, and he was just checking discreetly for Harry's wand to make sure he hadn't done something stupid and checked it with his duffel bag. Because he'd be expecting Harry to do something stupid and that was exactly the kind of lack of trust that made this trip such a bad idea in the first place.

            "You alright, Potter?"

            "I'm fine." Harry stepped forward onto the plane and smiled at the flight attendant who was directing people towards their seats as they got on.

            "Right at the back of the plane, darling. Let me know if you need anything."

            "Thank you," Malfoy said for Harry, and nudged him forward. "Last minute seats."

            "Hang on. Is that-" Harry, conscious of the people all around as they stepped through first class, kept his voice low. "Is that bad? Being at the back of the plane?"

            Draco laughed. "Not especially."

            "What do you mean?"

            Draco's sigh was unexpectedly close to Harry's ear. "It'll be fine. We can talk when we get to our seats, alright?"

            Harry took a breath and proceeded to their places way at the back of the plane. There was no need to panic, he'd flown thousands of times and then on nothing more stable than a broomstick. Of course they were going to be fine. It was probably smoother than taking the Knight Bus. Ron had flown plenty of times for work and said it was fine. Hermione insisted planes were perfectly safe. It would be fine.

            Besides, the plane itself was huge. It wasn't like Harry was closed up in some cabin alone with- and they'd have in-flight meals and- and he had Malfoy.

            Malfoy. Draco. Harry kept mixing up the names in his head. He'd wanted to use Draco, but it didn't feel as easy as it had in London for some reason.

            Ten seconds after doing his safety belt Harry’s breathing sped up.

            "Harry," Malfoy said slowly. "It's going to be fine, alright? Do you want me to do anything? A calming charm, or maybe just talk you through it?"

            "I'm fine," Harry snapped. But it was becoming obvious even to him that he wasn't fine. His thoughts were going a thousand miles an hour and he was breathing rather harder than a sitting person should and he was feeling hot and itchy. "I've never been on a plane and I don't like small spaces, Malfoy."

            Draco took his hand, and for all Harry wanted to yank it away from him it was infinitely more comforting than feeling the aloneness, so he let him do it. "It's alright, Harry."

            Harry was vaguely aware of Draco saying something to the person who'd just sat down on his left (Harry had the window), and then it seemed everyone was settling in and they were starting to explain what you needed to know in case of emergencies.

            Except all those things that could go wrong with the plane weren't really helping Harry stave off a panic attack.

            Draco let go of Harry's hand a second, and that really didn't help, but at Harry's wide-eyed expression Draco muttered "calming charm?" and Harry nodded so Draco did it and then he was holding Harry's hand again.

            Christ. The charm was strong, and Harry knew from experience that it would take more than that to properly combat what may possibly have been turning into a panic attack, but for the moment everything had gone hazy and the feeling of someone holding his hand was really nice. Distantly Harry realized that panicking probably wouldn't be a good thing to do on a plane, and he wondered what they were going to do to keep it- what he was going to do to keep it- what Draco-

            Draco was whispering things and that was nice. Harry tried to focus on that. Maybe it'd help when-

            "… okay, alright? Honestly, Potter. I'm right here. Do you know why you're panicking?"

            Harry looked at him. "I- no, not really? Did you do a silencing charm?" Harry felt as if a bubble were overtaking them.

            "Yes. Does that help?" Draco looked concerned.

            "Pills," Harry said. "I've got pills for this. In my bag. Then you can lift the calming charm." Harry's voice sounded too even. He knew it was only a matter of- fuck, no, that was making it- "There should be water."

            "I've got it." Draco was already fumbling through Harry's bag.

            Harry glanced up. He had to think about something else something else something else. No one around them appeared to have noticed anything amiss. Which was probably due to Draco's silencing charm. So it didn't look like Harry was about to have a panic attack, or that the only thing keeping one away was-

            "Here." Draco placed a pill into one of Harry's hands and a water bottle in the other.

            Harry downed it.

            "Better?"

            Harry couldn't help but notice the hint of anxiety in Draco's eyes. "Yeah. I mean I will be, I just... can you keep the silencing charm up?"

            "Of course I can. You're going to be okay, alright?"

            "Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. Okay. Placebo's already kicking in. The pill should start working and- can you take off the calming charm?"

            Draco lifted it.

            "Thanks. Thanks."

            "I'm sorry. If I'd known I would have suggested-"

            "Draco. It's fine. There's no way we would've got out of here unnoticed if- shite- are we taking off?"

            "Yes. You're sure you're-?"

            "Yeah, of course." Harry was now staring in wonder out the window. He was still nauseous and maybe a little dizzy and very close to freaking out again if not for the promise of the muggle meds his healer insisted would help, he knew they would help, they had helped, but- "Wow."

            Harry had flown plenty of times; this was nothing like that. All the familiar weightlessness of a broom and none of the control. It was better in some ways, because he didn't have to worry about getting pitched off (as if he'd ever worried about that, save a few thunderstorms and Quirrell's curse)- but not seeing ahead of him was hard to reconcile with the fact that he was flying.

            "Do you need anything else? Can I lift the-?"

            "No," Harry said quickly. He noticed he'd got hold of Draco's hand again and Draco, though looking surprised, didn't seem to mind. "It's better this way. I don't feel trapped if I can- you know?"

            "Yes. Yes, of course."

            It took a good twenty minutes of cruising altitude before Harry finally released his death grip on Draco's hand and started to feel okay. The meds wore off quickly because of his magic, something Harry didn't mind, so long as he could make it through this flight without having to cling to a person who he was fairly certain would rather not spend the entire time trying to keep Harry calm.

            "Ahh. Circulation returns."

            "Sorry," Harry said, more embarrassed than he thought it was possible to be around Malfoy. Ugh. He'd have to give it back just as amiably when they got off the plane. "I can handle it usually, I just... too much, you know?"

            "Yeah. I feel the same way whenever I have to work for someone."

            "Really?" Harry grinned, taking advantage of the distraction from the plane which really wasn't so scary he had a wand he'd be fine. "Is that why you're a perpetual temp?"

            "Ugh." Draco tipped his head back. "I hate that word. I'm not a temp, I'm a consultant. Which, in case you hadn't realized, is one of the few jobs in which I can make spectacular amounts of money without angering a whole slew of people."

            "How so?"

            "I only work for people who are willing to have me on. 'Consulting' is just a fancy way of saying I help rich people figure out their problems, and this way the only Ministry royalty I ever come in contact with are the ones who don't want to personally slit my throat. I get to continue my luxurious lifestyle and nobody gets too angry about it. Works quite well, actually. What about you? I don't think you ever properly explained what you're doing, apart from charming peoples' money out of their pockets for every cause that catches your fancy."

            Harry sighed. "That was sort of the point of this trip. Once I'm done panicking and relaxing and everything. I want to do something else, you know, other than wander around London looking like an aimless idiot. I just- I've never had a chance to think about it. I'm always being distracted by something. I know that's a bad excuse, I'm sorry, I-"

            "No. It's not a bad excuse at all. It makes sense. If I had more options I'd probably be as indecisive as you are."

            "Indecisive. That's a much nicer way of saying I don't have my life together."

            Draco smiled. "Well. I figured if you were cutting me slack I owed you some. And, anyway, who wants to do the traditional thing and work for the Ministry or some magical company or take up with whatever Quidditch team will have you?"

            Harry laughed. "They still owl me asking if I've reconsidered." He glanced out the window. "This is kind of nice. Once you get over the trusting strangers to fly bit. And, I mean, I of all people should have no problem with this, I grew up in the muggle world."

            "Even muggles freak out about flying, Potter. Even when it's normal flying like this. And I can't say my first time on a plane was much easier."

            "When was that?"

            Draco shrugged. "Right before Hogwarts. There were a few too many people in Transportation who hated my family, so my mother suggested we try the muggle way instead. Father was furious, of course, and insisted on taking a portkey, but mother and I went on a plane and it was fine. Did it for quite a few vacations after that, though dear old Lucius would never set foot on one."

            "I didn't expect you to have flown before."

            "I didn't expect you to have not. You never went anywhere with your family?"

            Harry felt his expression turn to distaste. He tried to ignore the hint of returning panic that absolutely had nothing to do with this topic of conversation. "They hated me." He took a breath. "If you don't mind, could we not talk about-?"

            "No problem. I'm not too keen to talk about my family, anyway. Most of them are completely out of their minds, as you well know."

            "Yeah. Suppose I do. Sirius was mad enough."

            Draco looked wistful."I wish I could have met him."

            "He would have liked you. Not necessarily as you were back when we were torturing each other, but now- I don't know. I think he would have liked you. You turned out alright."

            Draco smiled. "If I've secured such an endorsement from the Savior of wizardkind, surely an ex-convict would approve of me."

            Harry bit his lip. "Could you not do that, either? The 'Chosen One' thing? I mean, it isn't as if it's going to put me into another panic or anything, I just-"

            "Sure. We're going to have to learn how to speak to each other if we're intending to make it the whole year."

            Harry let that sink in for a minute. "Why did I agree to do this?"

            Draco shrugged. "It doesn't seem to be failing yet."

            "No," Harry agreed. "Not yet."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what's happening or where this is going but I must say I'm quite enjoying the ride and I hope you are, too.

            They made it to the ground unscathed (minus whatever damage Harry had inflicted on Draco's hand every time there was turbulence), and Harry was feeling much better about both the fact he'd likely be flying again soon and the fact that he'd spent approximately three of the past ten hours holding Draco Malfoy's hand.

            Then there was the small matter of where they were going to stay, which had yet to be determined. After a few minutes of wandering around, they found a list of hotels. Draco picked something over four stars that sounded pretentious and called to book them rooms.

            “When we get there I’m booking spa treatments. And you’re going to go to them and shut up, because I don’t care if you trust me but you will make good on this promise.”

            “What promise?” Harry yawned. Napping on the flight hadn’t exactly been easy, and the jet lag was starting to catch up to him. Which was just as well; it was dark, anyway.

            “Your promise to let me plan this one since you picked the place.”

            Harry rubbed his face and failed not to yawn again. “I don’t believe I made that promise.”

            “I believe you’re wrong. Shall we get a cab?”

            “Depends. Have you got loads of cash, or will renting from here be better?”

            The city kept Harry awake during the ride, but once he made it into his hotel room it was all he could do to make it to the bed.

 

            Malfoy did not rudely wake him up at some absurd hour of the morning. Instead, sometime the next afternoon, he yelled through the connecting door (because of course he’d got rooms with the stupid connecting door) that he was ordering breakfast and Harry should too unless he’d rather go somewhere and not have Draco pay for it.

            A few minutes later Harry knocked and was greeted by a sleepy-looking Draco at the connecting door. “Yes?”

            “When have you booked the terrible ordeals?”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “You mean the handful of tried and true relaxation aides intended to help you forget you were ever anyone’s puppet?”

            Harry frowned and opened his mouth but didn’t know quite how to reply.

            “I didn’t mean it like that, sorry.”

            Harry shook his head. “Whatever. Don’t worry about it. Just let me know when it’s time for the forced relaxation.” As he stepped back and closed the door, Harry could swear he caught a flash of worry in Draco’s expression.

            Or maybe that was the jet lag talking. Or the hunger. He was quite hungry.

            After ordering a considerable amount of food, Harry wandered around the posh room to take stock of it. The accent chair alone looked like it cost more than his estimated Grimmauld Place restoration budget. Which was growing by the day and was looking likely to take care of however many galleons were left in his family inheritance post-trip. At least that’d force him to get a job.

            About three minutes into his- what was it, brunch?- Harry heard a knocking on the inner door again. “Hm?”

            “I can smell that through the door. What did you get?” Draco craned his neck to see around where Harry was firmly planted in the doorway.

            “More like what didn’t I get. Why, what did you get?”

            “Waffles.”

            “That’s dessert.”

            “Not in America,” Draco said. “But, seeing as how it’s dessert-”

            “You just said-”

            “Do you have anything to spare?”

            Harry gave Draco’s spare frame a once-over, then glanced over his shoulder at the two trays of food on the bed. “’Course I do.” He let Malfoy in.

            “What are you offering.”

            Harry shrugged. “Anything.” He may have given Draco a hard time at the door, but he wouldn’t have not shared. Honestly. Not to mention Mrs. Weasley would’ve killed him otherwise.

            Draco chose a piece of a sandwich Harry had cut into quarters (he was banking on the minifridge coming in handy, even if Draco made a sizeable dent in the food) and was chewing thoughtfully. “It’s good. What’s this one called?”

            “Dunno, some Italian chicken thing. And you can sit.”

            “You’re standing.”

            Harry made a show of striding across the room and flopping down on the bed. Then he grabbed his own quarter sandwich and dug in.

            “You’re eating in bed.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows. “And yet I’m not the one talking about getting pampered.”

            “Oh, fine,” Draco said, and he perched on the opposite corner of the mattress, looking entirely too comfortable. Even though he was technically sitting on Harry’s bed.

            “This is weird,” Harry decided between bites.

            “Definitely,” Draco agreed. “Kind of nice, though, don’t you think?”

            Harry laughed. “Yeah, suppose so. Probably should have kicked you out by now.”

            Draco looked mock affronted. “You? Oust a starving comrade from the sanctity of your chambers?”

            “Are you sure it was just a waffle?”

            “What?”

            “I meant, are you sure it was just a waffle you had and not that and a damned thesaurus or dictionary or something?”

            Draco opened his mouth, closed it, and opted for flipping Harry off instead.

            Harry snorted. “Lovely. This is the weirdest lunch I’ve ever had.”

            “Less strange than the first time we ate together? Or the times on the plane?”

            Harry cocked his head to the side. Draco was right. It wasn’t the first time, and there was no way in hell it was going to be the last- they’d just started the damned vacation. Which meant that Harry was looking at quite a few more shared meals with the sharp-tongued antihero across from him.

            Ah. Can’t go thinking of him as an antihero, Harry reminded himself. Here we’re no one. Couple of blokes with too much money burning it on self-indulgence.

            Or a rich married couple. “Christ, this is weird.”

            Draco smirked. “I believe you’ve pointed that out already.”

            “Right.” Harry sighed. “What do we talk about, then?”

            “Well, we’ve covered quite the range in our short tenure as traveling companions. Might I suggest you search for something new that doesn’t drift into uncomfortable territory?”

            “Oh. Alright.” Harry chose something that he was curious about. Fuck comfort, not that it mattered much to him either way. “You didn’t seem off about the pills. I mean, they didn’t surprise you?”

            Draco blinked. “Why would they, I spent twelve months on Prozac.” The statement was deadpan, as far from a question as one could get.

            Harry nearly dropped his glass.

            “And might I remind you we were on a plane already. If that didn’t phase me, I don’t see why a logical combination of healing methods would.”

            “Logical combination of- you know, Hermione’s worried about mixing muggle meds with ours, right? Like, she’s the smartest person I know and she won’t even do it.”

            “As long as you’re not taking too many things, I believe the principle is the same. And thanks for the compliment. Really appreciate it.”

            Harry took a chip and fired back, “I wasn’t insulting you. I don’t know you.”  
            Draco raised his eyebrows.

            “Alright. I don’t know you well. Not anywhere near as well as I know her, anyway. I know you’re smart, but you haven’t exactly proven yourself to be more intelligent than the youngest junior minister in a century.”

            Draco almost smiled. “That was a surprisingly fair assessment.”

            “We aren’t ripping each other’s throats out.”

They held eye contact for a moment.

            Draco cleared his throat and stood. “I’d better get back to my pampering. It’s very difficult work. You know I have a long aromatic bath scheduled this afternoon?”

            “Oh, tragic. Absolutely horrifying.”

            “I know. I didn’t actually make any forced relaxation appointments until tomorrow, so you’re free to… well, to continue destroying this food, I imagine.”

            “Right. See you later.”

            Draco went back to his own room and shut the door, shooting a parting glance at Harry as he went.

            “Fuck,” Harry said aloud. “Fucking hell.”

            They’d broken bread maybe three or four times, all in muggle establishments, and they weren’t ripping each other’s throats out. Harry hadn’t thought the phrase ‘Slytherin git’ in the entirety of their time near each other, and he was reasonably certain Malfoy wasn’t gunning for him, either. So, they weren’t really waiting to see which of them broke first.

            They were becoming friends. Until one of them did something stupid, that is. Harry was notorious for it, and he knew from Malfoy’s earlier slip-up that he might one day cross a line he wasn’t able to uncross.

            The problem was that Harry wasn’t particularly bothered by that. He was just… excited to see what happened, really. More excited now that the countdown clock had flipped to a count-up clock. To see when they’d be friends. After that it would of course change back, to count down until one of them fucked it up.

            But until then he would apparently be enjoying becoming friends with Malfoy.

            Harry didn’t know how he felt about that.

 

            If not for the jet lag, Harry wouldn’t have been able to sleep that night for restlessness.

            He got the relaxation thing, he really did, it was just- Harry was so bad at doing nothing. He fucking hated it. It reminded him of the tent. It reminded him of the summer he turned fifteen. It reminded him of that month between arrests and trials when the Ministry was still sorting everything out and they were insisting the witnesses not make any official statements and he hadn’t been able to fucking do anything.

            Yes. Right. So doing nothing sounded great, but felt like shit.

            “You’re not doing it right,” Malfoy said the second he opened the door and stepped into Harry’s room.

            Harry had been the one to knock, but he hadn’t extended an invitation. “Sorry?”

            “Your face. I can tell. Your expression. You look trapped. You’re not supposed to feel trapped you’re supposed to feel free.” Draco sat down in the expensive armchair and gazed up at Harry, who hadn’t moved from the doorway.

            “Are you trying to tell me I’m doing vacation wrong?”

            “Yes. Exactly. Look at you. You’re wearing proper jeans, for Merlin’s sake. Honestly. You aren’t supposed to wear actual trousers while you’re in the relaxation part of the vacation.”

            Harry stared. Draco himself appeared to be wearing some expensive lineney trousers, so the idea that he was telling Harry off for not strutting around in a bathrobe was ludicrous. “You can’t do a vacation wrong. That’s the point. There’s nothing wrong to do.”

            Draco sighed heavily, like he was about to explain something that made perfect sense for the fifteenth time. Even though he hadn’t done a bit of explaining. “The fact that you don’t know that there’s a right way to do nothing, and therefore many wrong ways of doing it, indicates you’ve never had a vacation in your life.”

            Harry blinked. “I haven’t. Every time I try I-”

            “Get distracted by how much time you’re wasting and feel like you need to do something.”

            “Well…” Harry walked towards the bed, fully intending to start a pacing circuit of the room, but the evenness of Draco’s tone made him think it was better to sit. Since pacing would contribute to the restlessness at doing nothing. Even though he didn’t want to sit. Harry sat on the bed. “Yes. That.”

            Draco sighed again. Harry wondered how he hadn’t gone into acting. “Look, Potter, this may seem hard to believe, but it is possible not to worry about things. Not enough Prozac in the world to help me with that, of course, but you- there’s still hope for you.”

            Harry honestly did not know how to reply to that.

            “And my relaxation isn’t your concern, anyway. You have to figure out how to convince yourself it’s really okay to do nothing.”

            “But… But I have. I’ve come on this trip, haven’t I? I got on the plane and checked into this ridiculously posh hotel and slept for hours and hours.”  
            “Sleeping doesn’t count. You have to be able to relax while you’re awake.”

            Harry was confused on fifteen levels. He decided to start with the first one. “Why are you trying to give me this advice?”

            Draco stared. “Because I know how to give it. I’m great at giving advice. Especially considering I have an anxiety disorder and am thus uniquely experienced in handling anxiety. It is personal, though, which is why I can’t do more for you than try to convince you it’s okay to relax-”

            “Hang on. What- Malfoy, what are you doing?”

            “I’m revealing my mental illness to you so you trust me to advise you on your… inability not to worry.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

            “I’ve got a therapist for that, thanks.”

            “Your therapist isn’t here. And I thought half the point of us not going alone was to pick up the slack when the other one couldn’t figure out what they were doing.”

            Harry was dumbstruck. Completely and utterly could not believe what he was hearing. In the five days since he’d started talking to Malfoy again, they had discussed their insecurities sufficiently for them to- well- they’d fucking run away together, really, that was what they’d done. It wasn’t a contest or a competition, Harry’d figured that one out pretty quickly. They were on some sort of mutual quest, some trip for kindred spirits who had different reasons- no, similar reasons, if not exactly the same- for going. They were doing that stupid thing where you go traveling to find yourself, except they weren’t doing it properly, because you were supposed to do that alone and Harry wasn’t alone. He didn’t want to be alone. Away, yes. But he’d felt alone enough when he was bloody home.

            Meaning what? Meaning Malfoy- “You want to be my friend,” Harry said.

            “Of course I want to be your friend. We had lunch and it seemed like a good idea to be your friend. This seemed like a good idea. And I could sort of tell from lunch that we weren’t going to not be friends, couldn’t you?”

            “Yes,” Harry said. “But this is a stupid way to start a friendship.”

            “It’s unorthodox. So are we.”

            Harry was getting frustrated. It took him a moment to realize why. “You don’t have a problem with this.”  
            “No. If I had I wouldn’t’ve gone.” Malfoy hesitated. “Why? Do you have a problem with-?”

            “No Of course not. I just- I was so sure one of us would have a problem with it. That’s why it wasn’t supposed to work.”

            “Ah. Well. You wouldn’t have come, either, right?”

            “No.”

            Malfoy tipped his head to the side. “Were you maybe trying to convince yourself you didn’t have a problem, or- no, convince me? Like, we were both here to prove it, or something?”

            “I suppose. But neither of us has a problem.”

            “No.”

            “So it’s just a vacation?” It came out a question, even though Harry hadn’t meant it to be.

            “Yes.” Malfoy stood. “Now change into something with an elastic or drawstring waist, because buttons are absolutely not allowed on the relaxing portion of this trip.” And he left.


	4. Chapter 4

            “This is amazing. Have you learned any Japanese in the past day?”

            “Not a word,” Draco said confidently.

            “Worth a try,” Harry said. They were sitting in a café in some town in Japan- well, more of a city, but Harry had insisted they get out of big ones after that second week in Australia- and sipping coffee and watching the people go by. It was morning, Harry couldn’t tell what time it was supposed to be for his body, he was too many time zones away, and he loved it.

            He and Draco had been out of London for over two months, and Harry had finally learned how to relax.

            It had taken him awhile, especially since he insisted they drive partway through the US and Australia, and especially since Draco lacked a license and therefore all the driving was left to Harry. Still, after the first week in New York, and settling into the exciting vacation things after that (which consisted of actual sightseeing), Harry was learning to appreciate having time.

            He’d never had time. That was the thing he had to realize about relaxing, or doing nothing, or not worrying; in some lights it was a waste of time. But in other lights, including balanced and reasonably sane ones, time off was just as useful in its way as time on. Rest was just as important as action. Because he could afford to rest, now. He could sit in this random café casually chatting to a former enemy thousands of miles from home and not be too worried what was going on back in London. Because it didn’t matter. Not anymore. Not like it used to matter.

            Free. Harry was free. Or he’d learned how to feel that way. Didn’t matter what words he used to describe it. Or what words Draco used. Harry hadn't found much occasion to describe it himself, because once he’d mastered the art of relaxation Draco had stopped talking about it so damn often. They’d settled into an easier pattern instead. Important things could be discussed, but they didn’t matter more than the unimportant things; everything was equal. Equal and apart. Some combination of space and time allowed Harry not to grow so tense whenever Draco mentioned something important, or whenever he slipped.

            And Harry had started slipping, too. If you could call it that. If you could call mentioning shared experiences in an offhand way ‘slipping.’

            He didn’t really want to. Not anymore. Not now that he was just Harry again, the older version of the boy he’d been when Hagrid had first told him he was famous. Harry was just a person. Draco was just a person.

            For the first time in his life, Harry felt that to be true.

            “What do you want to do today?” Draco asked, snapping Harry out of his reverie.

            “Dunno. Was thinking of going for a walk.”

            “Boo! What about that museum?”

            Harry sighed. “We have tickets to go there tomorrow.”

            “Yes, right, but d’you really think we can see all there is to see in a single day? I mean, see it and appreciate it?”

            Harry looked at Draco for a second. They were by no means doing everything together, but it was quite nice to be able to talk to someone instead of communicating only via smiles, nods, and muttered translation spells. Before, it had been easy for them to split off. They got more knowing looks than surprised ones when it was two people with an accent instead of one; nevertheless, Harry had spent enough time out of his element to feel comfortable wandering around alone.

            And being alone was part of it. It was important, a thing Harry’d never had, not like this, not _safe_. “Fine, then. You go to the museum and I’ll go to the beach and when we get tired of being unable to reply to the locals I’m sure we’ll run into each other at the hotel.”

            Draco had insisted they keep getting rooms right next to each other; Harry didn’t mind. “Alright,” Draco said. “So long as you don’t break any international statutes. It’ll be hard for me to escape a press nightmare if you get found out and arrested.”

            “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” Harry stood and made his way down the sidewalk, heading for the beach.

            It was cold. There were only a few people out, on walks like him, and dressed for the weather. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and turned left, staying just out of range of the water. A few months ago the thought of travel, let alone vacation, would have been unimaginable to him.

            He must not have snapped ‘til he met Draco.

 

            “Oh!” An owl was tapping at the window, and the weather was getting worse by the minute. “I’m sorry!” Harry’d jogged up from the beach when the storm started; the last thing he expected was to find when he reached his hotel room was an owl fighting the gale.

            Harry rushed over to let the sopping bird inside. He didn’t recognize it, but the ribbon tied around its ankle designated the owl a long-distance Ministry owl. Must be from Hermione.

            After offering the owl a few scraps from breakfast, Harry laid out a towel on the floor so it wouldn’t drip all over the carpet while recovering. Then he turned to his letter.

 

Dear Harry,

            I was quite pleased to read your last letter. I understand the nature of the vacation is to get a true holiday, a real retreat from all this, but honestly Ron and I were worried you were going to expatriate to America. Now that you’ve reassured us, I’ll give you the requested update. My work is going well. Ron’s is, too, though he had to take half the Muggle Liaison Office to Edinburgh for the weekend via muggle train. They’re getting better at it, they really are. It’ll take a few more years before the Muggle Studies requirement students graduate, though.

            Time to address the elephant in the room, so to speak: your traveling companion. While we did know you left at around the same time (the Prophet loves to speculate), Ron and I didn’t think you’d be so reckless as to- well- it isn’t reckless, we’re just a bit surprised. We love you with all our hearts, Harry. And trust that you won’t be the victim or perpetrator of any violent crimes, because we trust your judgment. I would warn you about making snap decisions, but both of us know that’s an insufficient argument coming far too late to change anything.

            Not that we want to change anything. Because we love you. And if Draco Malfoy happened to need a vacation as well, well, it’s much better that you aren’t traipsing ‘round the globe alone. We only care about your safety. You’ve assured us that you’re safe. So, I would love to hear about your travels, if you’ve any other interesting stories, but I won’t presume to taint your holiday with tales from the Ministry.

                                    Sending all my love, and Ron’s, too, of course,

                                                                                                Hermione

 

            That had read much better than Harry was expecting. Granted, Hermione’s tone made it clear she was unwilling to fuck up his vacation in any way. Meaning that if they were freaked out about finding out he’d gone with Draco they weren’t sharing it. Still, though. A decent reaction.

            Harry would just have to hope that the next reply came from Ron directly. Ron wasn’t much for letter writing, but he’d always made time to keep in touch with Harry, even on this grand mysterious ‘don’t bother me’ vacation. Ideally Ron would have recovered by the time he received Harry’s next letter.

            Pain in the arse though it was, Harry liked to send postcards direct from his current location, so he sent the determined-looking owl back into the rain with no reply. He’d have a foreign muggle post office to worry about once he had a few anecdotes to pass along. It was worth it, though. Not because he was sure his postcards would be lined up on the fridge of Ron and Hermione’s flat when he got back, but because he wanted to make them smile. And postcards seemed good for that.

            No sooner had the owl left his room than someone was banging on the door.

            Harry swung it open to find Draco, soaking wet and staring. He ducked into the bathroom and threw Draco a towel.

            “Thanks. I was worried you were still out. I didn't want to be the one reporting to your countless fans that you’d drowned in a thunderstorm.” Draco took the towel to his hair and removed his coat. “Mind if I borrow your bath?”

            “Er-no?” Harry stood back and let Draco inside, whereupon the latter draped his jacket over the edge of the tub and tossed the towel next to it.

            “Thanks,” Draco said. Then he perched on the lid of the toilet, leaving Harry to linger rather uncomfortably in the bathroom doorway.

            “How was the museum?”

            “Good. Although when it started raining I realized I’d forgotten an umbrella and had to weave back through the whole place again. Looks like you got here in good time, though.”

            “Yeah.” Harry didn't know what else to say.

            After a moment of being stared at, Draco said, "Oh, I'm sorry, did you not want to have a conversation in your bathroom?"

            "Didn't know we were having a conversation."

            Draco sighed. "Hopeless, honestly. I see you've had an owl?"

            "Er- I told Ron and Hermione." When Draco did nothing but wait, Harry added, "They took it, erm, rather well."

            "Rather well?" The amount of time Draco's eyebrows spent behind his fringe sometimes made Harry think Draco hadn't any.

            "They're glad I'm okay and are waiting to give me a proper lecture until I'm back."

            "Oh, I see, so you've got an incentive not to ditch me, now? Wonderful."

            "I was never going to ditch you."

            "That wasn't the original plan."

            Harry sighed. "Look, I don't know what's going on between us, but I think it's fair to say we aren't going to kill each other."

            Draco nodded. "Quite."

            "So are we having dinner tonight or what?"

            "Is my husband asking me on a date?" Draco had dropped the rich thing post New York. Didn't stop him from joking about it just infrequently enough for Harry not to have gotten used to it.

            Because he was a bit red. "I'm asking you to come to dinner in the restaurant downstairs, like we've eaten dinner many times before, and not kill me. This isn't different from any of those other times."

            "Sure it isn't. I'm off to find dry clothes. Summon me when you're dressed."

            Harry looked down at his perfectly fine, not too wet clothes, opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. "Fine."

            Draco went through the connecting door.

 

            Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in the hotel restaurant. They’d managed to order drinks successfully. Harry wasn’t holding his breath about the food, though the menu items were mercifully written in English as well as Japanese.

            “I can’t believe we’ve been out of London so long,” Harry said.

            “We didn’t leave the States ‘til the end of March.”

            “Sorry. Wanted to see how big they were.”

            Draco rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m pretty sure you were just trying to see as many as you could before- well, I’d say before I lost it and bailed out, but I wasn’t about to miss _this_ , so-”

            “It is kind of great, isn’t it?” Harry looked out the hotel window, where the storm was just ending, over the sweeping, steep landscape that dipped down into the ocean. “I’ve never been in a place like this. I would say I’ve never been on an island, but, well…”

            Draco laughed. “Right. You’ve been on at least two. Unless you’ve gone on some trips via portkey and not mentioned them before, which I sincerely doubt.”

            “Nope,” Harry confirmed. “Just the island we normally live on. And Australia.”

            “Why did we go to Australia?” Draco had, in fact, got sunburned the very first day. He’d been too proud to find the local wizarding district and ask for a spell, and had only just got the regular healing charms to work.

            “We went to Australia because it is a logical waypoint between New York and London.”

            “So is the ocean, and we didn’t go there.”

            Harry started to counter that of course they hadn’t turned around and gone backwards but they had to order and that required some modicum of concentration.

            “I can’t wait ‘til we get to France. God, I love France.”

            “Does your knowledge of French have anything to do with that?”

            Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “How do you know I speak French?”

            “Because you were friends with the gayer half of Beauxbatons when they were staying and I highly doubt they were speaking Italian.”

            “Right. And, you know, those languages sound nothing alike, the idea of you confusing them is absurd…”

            They made it through dinner like they’d made it through two months’ worth of other dinners. Surprisingly well. Not so surprising anymore.

            This time Draco invited Harry over for dessert. They hadn’t done it often, only when they were tired and very insistent on trying whatever sweet thing the hotel had to offer. Draco loved sweets; Harry didn’t mind them. Well, he enjoyed them, but not all the time.

            It was different because Draco was always in Harry’s room, but never the other way around. It was different because they got one thing this time and shared it, instead of picking off each other’s separately-ordered plates.

            “Have you been doing okay?”

            Harry raised his eyebrows.

            “With the- with the worrying, I mean. With the panicking.”

            “Oh. Oh. No. I mean yes. Yes, I’m fine, I haven’t had to… haven’t had to take anything since the first plane.”

            “Good.”

            Harry had been worried that after that first time he would panic on a plane again. He hadn’t though. Maybe because he knew Draco wouldn’t freak out if he did. Maybe because he’d done it already, done it a first time, a scariest time, and knew what to expect now. “How are you, then?”

            Draco laughed. “What, my OCD? It’s fantastic. I’m fantastic. I’m lovely.”

            “You never told me what it was.”

            Draco shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what it is. I mean, it does matter, but it’s just stupid muggle words that help a bit better than the wizard ones. Or lack of wizard ones. I think healers took one look at the muggle classifications for mental illness and decided it was all made up anyway and it’d be better to handle on an individual basis.”

            “That is what it seemed like the times I went in. Though I don’t know much about it.”

            “The muggle way is a pill for everything. But that doesn’t work. Not really. And our population’s nothing compared to theirs. So the one-size-fits-most thing doesn’t really factor in, because the growing few who buy into muggle healing are still a small enough group for them to look at cases individually.”

            “If only that worked for everything.”

            “Yeah, I know.”

            Harry hesitated, not wanting to pry.

            “You can ask, you know. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want you to ask.”

            “How do you know so much about this? I mean, beyond clearly being one of the people who buy into muggle healing?”

            “Because I had to go to muggles first because there weren’t many wizards crossing over, and the few that had tried didn’t seem like they’d offer unbiased treatment. Now there’s at least a dozen doctors who use muggle methods. I finally found someone who was able to treat me with magic without holding a grudge.”

            “Ah.” Harry didn’t know what that was like, couldn’t imagine it. He had the better part of fame, the part where people stalked you but for the most part loved you; he couldn’t imagine how it would have been for Draco, especially right after the war. Especially when it was all worse. “How did you do it? Get here, I mean? Because I know I can’t know how you are, not without asking, and I wouldn’t ask something like that, we’re not close enough, I just- you seem alright, or at least as alright as you can be. And I had a hell of a time getting here and I’m- well, doing well enough to have run away.”

            “I ran away, too.”

            Harry laughed. “You had a job.”

            Draco thought about it. He thought and he thought and if not for the expression on his face Harry would have thought the conversation was over. “Take nothing seriously.”

            “What?” Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard the correct words come out of Draco’s mouth just then.

            “Take nothing seriously. Unless it’s actually serious. Which most things aren’t, so. Take nothing seriously.”


	5. Chapter 5

            “It’s hot.”

            “We’re in India,” Draco pointed out.

            “Yes, but it’s hot.”

            “It’s summer.” After applying countless layers of sunblock and coinciding charms, Draco felt confident that even if he did duck out of the shade for a minute he’d remain safe.

            Harry had at least half as many layers of protection and loads darker skin and was still managing to complain. Perhaps because he was spending more time in the sun and actually absorbing the sunlight. “It’s supposed to be spring.”

            “Not in this hemisphere, my man.”

  
            Harry glared from his patch of shaded pool. “That’s not exactly how weather’s supposed to work, though, is it?”

            Draco shrugged. “That’s how it is working. And we’re only here for a few more days. I’d think you would have learned to appreciate the end of a new location by now.”

            “Suppose you’re right. Doesn’t make it less hot.”

            “What, me being right?”

            Harry furrowed his brow, suddenly got it, and frowned. “Shut up.”

            Draco snorted and did not reply.

            He had gotten used to Harry, surely, the way you got used to someone you saw in class every day even if you didn’t quite enjoy them. Well; he did enjoy Harry, or at least he enjoyed joking with him. It was nice to be able to coexist in the same area with someone and not have some type of expectation hanging over them. With Pansy or Blaise or Greg it was easy, but they carried the weight of what they’d done uncertainly on their shoulders every time they went out. No one knew Draco here. Nobody knew what he’d done. He was just another stupid tourist, on the same footing as Harry really for once, and it was very nice.

            And they talked. About everything. The first time Draco had mentioned the war he thought Harry would tear his head off about it, but he hadn’t. And he didn’t. Not now. Now Harry went along with it, if a bit uneasily. He let Draco say what he needed to say and Harry said what he needed to say and Draco let him.

            They’d apologized years ago. Draco hadn’t known what exactly Harry was apologizing for. Draco’s own list of infractions was too long to count. Not that Harry seemed to want him to try- “I’m sorry for everything” had been enough. That and an apology every time Draco made Harry’s face twist up with discomfort on the trip. That was all Harry wanted. For Draco to acknowledge that he was sorry. As for what Harry needed, Draco didn’t know. But Harry asked for most everything else he needed (like his early ‘stop mentioning the war’ or his more recent ‘if you insist on paying with that damned card one more time I’m going to lose it’).

            So Draco trusted that by that point if Harry did really need anything he would ask for it. Or at least tip Draco off, if not asking outright, because he was still Harry. The savior thing wasn’t his. Self-sacrifice was, though.

 

            They saw everything. Draco never thought of himself as someone who would see everything, though he’d very much like to try. And now he just was. Seeing everything. Every climate, every terrain, every way of life. That was the thing, the thing that was the same. People were just trying to live. Like him. Like Harry. The thought that Draco had ever wanted to disrupt that was- how could he? There was so much, so much life in the world.

            And Draco didn’t want to disrupt it. He appreciated it now, like he never had shut up in the Manor or even drifting from job to job back in London.

            Harry thrived on it, soaking up the energy and basking in it more readily than he did the sunlight.

            By the time they’d made it to Egypt Draco was starting to think he maybe sort of liked Harry.

            Or Potter. Or whatever he was calling him by then. Draco flipped back and forth easily as anything; he’d noticed Harry only used his surname when he was teasing Draco or angry with him. Mercifully, the latter hadn’t happened too often. And never when Draco had mentioned a touchy subject, which was the last thing Draco would expect, but- well- the things that bothered Harry weren’t the ones he’d known about.

            Other things bothered Harry. Small ones Draco wouldn’t have thought.

            Like when Draco asked, “Are we friends, now, then?” even though he didn’t know another word that described what they were.

            Harry looked at him. Really looked. Draco was as relaxed as ever, legs lazily crossed, leaning back in his chair, expression perfectly calm and smooth, as far as he could tell. Nothing to give himself away. Not that there was anything to give away. He just. Wanted to be Harry’s friend.

            “’Course we are,” Harry finally said. “I already agreed to be your friend. A while ago.”

            Draco hadn’t realized his entire body had been taut until Harry said that and all Draco’s muscles went slack. “Merlin, Potter. Don’t need to make it sound so awful.”

            Harry’s eyes were boring holes through Draco’s sunglasses, they had to be. “I wasn’t.”

            It was hard for Draco not to look at him. “If it’s been long enough for you to agree we’re friends, it’s been long enough for me to tell when something’s off with you.”

            “Nothing’s off! Just because it took me three seconds longer than usual to answer-”

            “Oh, so you admit it, then? You admit you hesitated?”

            “I hesitated because I thought we’d already had this discussion.”

            “We did. I’m sorry.” Draco tipped his head back, looking up at the sky. It was the one thing you could count on wherever you went. “How are your people?”

            “My Ron and Hermione? They’re good. Quite annoyed I still haven’t come back, actually, but- can’t say I don’t expect your people to feel the same.”

            “They do. Pansy threatened to hire a private investigator and my mother practically offered the moon for me to come to France.”

            “Are we going to France?”

  
            Draco sat bolt upright in his chair and flipped down his glasses to stare. “Of course we’re going to France. You can’t go on a worldwide trip with a Malfoy and not go to France, Potter. Honestly.”

            Draco gave him crap about it all the way from the hotel to the museum. When they got there Harry seemed so awed that Draco couldn’t help but drop the teasing and stare in wonderment at Harry instead.

            “This is where it all belongs, you know? I mean, it’s not where we stole it from, that was the pyramids, but- it’s kind of like when we saw that railroad museum back in America.”

            Draco wouldn’t have expected him to be so amazed. But Harry always surprised him like that. “How many months ago was it?”

            “Dunno. Not as long as it’s been since I saw the stuff we stole from here.”

            “Why d’you keep saying that? I mean, I know it’s true, but-”

            Harry turned to stare at him.

            “Okay,” Draco said. “Right. I get the point. I just don’t know that we should be broadcasting it here, you know?”

  
            “Sure,” Harry murmured, becoming immersed in the artifacts again.

            No one Draco knew looked at things like that. No one else he knew appreciated them like that, like they hadn’t known they’d existed until they’d seen them, like- like they were a child again, almost.

            Draco had forgotten what that was like, that feeling. And Harry’d been reminding him every day.

 

            As the days wore on Draco liked Harry more and more, even though he said the most ridiculous things.

            “I can’t believe we got into Russia.”

            “Again, Potter, I really don’t think that’s the kind of thing you should be saying aloud here.” They were weeks away from Egypt, but Harry had gotten into the habit of pointing things out that he really shouldn’t have as a British tourist.

            “Right, sorry. Didn’t know the Cold War was still going on.” It was silly of Harry to say it, but Draco loved it anyway.

            So when Draco shoved Harry it was possibly a bit harder than was necessary.

            “Come on, Draco. You’ve got the poshest accent this side of the Mediterranean and you don’t think people can tell?”  
            “Tell what? That I’m a tourist? Of course they can. No need to make it worse drawing extra attention to ourselves.”

            “We’re not drawing extra attention to- yes, er, two rooms under ‘Potter,’ please?” They’d reached the front desk and Harry had picked the place this time.

            Once they had their keys, they headed upstairs. Draco had long since packed his ridiculous quantity of luggage into one smaller bag, and Harry had abandoned the duffel to compress everything into his backpack. They looked like true tourists, now. Though Draco’d be damned if he wasn’t still going to dress well while doing it. “When are we going to South America?”

            “Dunno. In a bit. We sort of missed it, didn’t we? Hazard of always going west. We’ll get there eventually.” Harry slid his key card and flung his door open. “When are we going to France?”

            Draco smirked and followed Harry into the room. “Whenever we get there. Some time next. I don’t know.” Draco caught sight of the left wall and frowned. “There’s no connecting door.”

            Harry glanced back, apologetic. “Sorry. Said they didn’t have one.”

            “Damned Russians.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows.

            “Right, sorry, won’t be a hypocrite. Much.” Draco could feel Harry’s eyes on his back as he went out to the hallway to go to his own room.

 

            Later that night Draco was staring at the ceiling when he heard a knock.

            It wasn’t coming from his room door. It was coming from a door that had appeared in the wall between Harry’s room and his.

            “Found a workaround, have you?” Draco asked as he swung the door open.

            “Couldn’t sleep.”

            “Neither could I.” Draco grinned and stepped back, and Harry came into his room like he had a thousand times before and went and sat on the bed.

            “I’m just having one of those nights, you know?”

            “Don’t I ever,” Draco said, plopping onto the bed next to him. “Want to talk about it?”

            Of course he did, Draco had been able to tell from Harry’s voice. “My brain won’t go off.”

            “Mmm. That happens to me a lot, too.”

            Harry shook his head. “I always reckoned you were better at it.”

            Draco raised his eyebrows.

            “At, I dunno… sleeping. Thinking. Regulating your thoughts and all that. You seemed to have it down. Still do.”

            Draco laughed and fell back on the bed. “Please. Not even close.”

            “Really?”

            Draco craned his neck to look up at Harry. “Really. That’s sort of the point of OCD. I don’t understand why I can’t control my brain and that upsets me.”

            “I thought you said it was you being illogical and knowing you were being illogical but- oh.”

            Draco smiled and let his head fall back.

            “Hang on,” Harry said slowly, almost slowly enough for Draco to look up again.

            “What?”

            “How come you sold yourself as the master of relaxation and practically made a sport of it if that was the one thing you really couldn’t do the whole time?”

            Draco almost laughed. “Because. That’s the point. I know the theory of it, and I know that my worrying about everything all the time makes no sense. I was just trying to get you not to do it.”

            Harry waited a second before replying, “So you can’t take your own advice.”

            “Nope.”

            “Hypocrite.” Harry was smiling when he said it, he had to be.

            Draco could hear it by then. “If I don’t say anything ill-advised about our being in Russia will you let it slide?”

            “Of course I will. It’s not your fault.” The way Harry was staring at him made Draco sit fully up again.

            He just looked at him. Then Draco said, “It’s not yours, either, you know. The sleeping. Or the pills or- any of it.”

            “The war’s not my fault?” Harry was smiling, then, the most heartbreaking smile Draco had ever seen.

            “Of course it isn’t. Not any more than it’s mine.”

            Harry inhaled as if to speak. As if he was going to make a joke of it and brush it off and move on with things. But then he said, “Do you know how many times I’ve been told the war’s not my fault?”

            Draco shook his head.

            “Too many times.” Then Harry was the one falling back on the bed. “For some reason it still surprises me when I hear it again. I keep expecting one day they’ll all wake up and realize that it’s everyone’s fault. That’s the point. No one’s to blame because it’s all of us.”

            “Doesn’t mean you have to take responsibility. Because no one else will, that doesn’t mean you do.”

            Harry sat up and stared at him.

            “It doesn’t. I know I wasn’t a positive contribution, but if I decided to take on the whole thing myself because other people don’t want to, then- it’d drive you mad.”

            “I know.”

            “It drives you mad. So don’t. Take responsibility, I mean. Just… give it back.”

            Harry sounded like Draco felt, all the time, in his head. “How?”

            “Wish I could tell you. That’s the one thing I was able to do to- to survive, really,” Draco realized as he said it that it was true. If he hadn’t let go of the war he never would have made it. “Maybe that’s why you’re here. To figure that out.”

            “But how can I? How can I let go when everyone else is- when no one else will-?” Harry cut off, expression frustrated and a bit helpless.

            “Welcome to OCD thoughts. Can’t say I’m glad to have you, although it does get lonely sometimes.”

            Harry sighed and flung back on the bed. “Yeah. It does.”

            They stayed there for a very long time before Harry finally dragged himself up and went to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

            They came together gradually, but they both knew it was happening.

            Draco had cared about Harry much more than a friend for more weeks than he wanted to admit. He knew Harry felt the same way but neither of them wanted to rush into it.

            Or Draco didn’t, and he could tell Harry didn’t. When Harry wanted to rush into something he just did it. So they were letting it happen slowly, like a flower opening up and up and up each day.

            This time Draco was leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry had tilted his head to rest against Draco’s. There was a headiness to the air, one that had become familiar, like Draco could feel exactly how much space the air was taking up and just how it fit into the area between them. If he just turned his head… Draco did. Harry, looking surprised at first by the shift in equilibrium, seemed to need only a second. Then he was looking at Draco curiously, then intensely. From centimeters away. Looking at Draco like the same thoughts were running through his mind, like he also wanted to close the distance and-

            A jolt of the train brought them a few more inches apart, and the moment was over.

            "How d'you think they're going to take it?" Harry asked. He settled back against Draco’s shoulder like it was nothing.

            "Take what?"

            Draco could tell Harry raised his eyebrows.

            "Doesn't matter," Draco said easily. "They know all they need to know by now, and besides, they've got a few more months to get used to it, haven't they?"

            “I suppose so.” Harry went to sleep.

            Draco looked out the window and prayed he wouldn’t break anything.

 

            Harry’s birthday was spent in Poland.

            They’d lost track of time for a week or two, and Harry hadn’t known Draco’s birthday and Draco hadn’t wanted to tell him, so that day came and went and when Harry realized what had happened he ordered a cake and they holed up in Draco’s room staring out the window and eating it. Draco’s actual birthday had been in Russia, and he could feel Harry getting closer, but Draco wasn’t about to do something about it when he knew the friendlier environs of central Europe were likely their next stop. Also the thought of instigating anything other than their too-close friendship was terrifying. They had come close so many times, so so close, but to close the distance, to take that step forward not knowing for certain if Harry wanted to yet- that was too much.

            Until Draco’s make-up birthday, in Finland.

            That’s when he’d finally kissed him.

            Harry had seemed surprised, and then delighted, and then they’d spent the whole day kissing.

            Draco knew better than to parade down the streets of a foreign country holding Harry’s hand, but Merlin, he wanted to. The day was warm and bright and he and Harry had fallen asleep talking on Harry’s suite floor the previous night. Draco had known Harry’s birthday for as long as he could remember. Naturally, he couldn’t let it pass unnoticed. He wanted to do everything Harry wanted today, the same way Harry had said ‘we’ll do anything you want all day’ to make up for Draco’s birthday.

            The answer then had been ‘I want to eat cake and talk until we run out of words and cake.’ Harry’s answer would probably be to see as many things as they could without looking at a map once.

            “I can’t believe I missed your birthday,” Harry said.

            “You haven’t. You made up for it. I don’t like making a big deal of things. It’s fine. Today is your birthday, so will you please drink your coffee and take in the view and stop complaining?”

            Harry hummed noncommittally and took an icy drink. It was warm out, but it was infinitely nicer than it’d been anywhere nearer to the equator, and Draco had got rather used to seeing Harry in the sunlight and the thought of trading that for months of cloud wasn’t one he was especially looking forward to.

            “What do you want to do today?” Draco asked.

            He knew the answer before Harry said it. “I want to walk around. See what we find.”

            Draco wondered when he had fallen so hopelessly in love. “Where should we start?”

            Harry shrugged. “Here. High street. Whenever we finish breakfast. And then just keep walking and walking until we get lost and have to apparate back to the hotel.”

            “Sounds exciting.”

            Harry hummed again. Draco was needing his explanations less and less; he could read Harry’s expressions well by then.

            He was going to have to, if he wanted to survive whatever came after this. Something Draco tried not to think about, because thinking had a habit of ruining things where Harry was concerned.

            Once breakfast was eaten and the sun had taken up residence a bit higher in the sky, Harry and Draco set off down the road and onto a path made of dirt that looked like it went absolutely nowhere. Draco didn’t mind. Liked it, actually, because a few minutes down the path he grabbed Harry’s hand and Harry interlaced their fingers.

            “Did you ever think this would happen?” Draco asked quietly, darting a sideways glance at Harry.

            Harry smiled. “No. That almost makes it better, though, I think. It makes it the best surprise.”

            Draco squeezed. They didn’t talk for a mile or more, but something about Harry’s hand in his made it easy not to think about going home.

 

            Their life of leisure had no pattern. It felt comfortable all the same, though, and Draco didn’t want to leave it.

            Each morning they woke up to the sound of each other knocking on the door. After a while the door just started being open, and they flowed between the rooms like it was nothing.

            They always went out for breakfast. Unless they were exhausted, in which case they could be persuaded to repeat their first meal in New York and lay in bed a little longer trying to appreciate their surroundings through the windows.

            When breakfast was done, the whims of the day dictated how they would proceed. They handed off decision privileges with no set system. Days Draco was in charge they were almost always seeing historical things, statues or ruins or museums. On Harry days they saw the strangest things, things from history Draco would not have thought to find, local places nothing at all like anything in London, wandering walks to take in the landscape.

            If they were lost they apparated back to the hotel before figuring out lunch. If they knew where they were they walked back, or took a train, or a bus if they could, or whatever form of transport they had learned how to take in the short time they’d been there.

            They used to split up, Draco remembered. Drifting around within finding-each-other distance until one of them got bored or caught in the rain.

            But he had never liked those times, being alone and untethered, even though he could feel that faint connection to Harry. It tugged, made him want to be close enough to see the only person who could begin to understand his experience in each new place. The only familiar thing in a whirl of unfamiliarity. New things were refreshing, but he’d grown used to Harry’s presence and the lack of it made him ache.

            Draco didn’t have to worry about it much of late. Now he was with Harry nearly all the time.

            He remembered right at the beginning when Harry had said something about finding themselves. Draco hadn’t thought he needed to do that; he’d only wanted to be free for a while, to learn what it was to be this Draco without the press of expectation coming from all sides. It was easier to do that when you were free. Convinced as Draco was that he’d had a firm grip on his selfhood since about two months after the war, he had to acknowledge that it was easier this way. Just being.

            He had a feeling Harry’d worked all this out in his own way. Because by then Draco knew Harry never would have opened himself up to Draco otherwise. Not the way Draco poured everything out to him right away. Harry took time to learn, building trust by the hour.

            After lunch it was more of the same. Exploring and exploring and exploring with no place to be and no one to answer to. They ate every meal together and fell asleep talking, quietly yelling through the connecting door that Harry always made sure was there or passing out somewhere strange staring at each other.

            It was the easiest thing Draco had ever done. He didn’t want it to stop ever.

            He wasn’t yet sure how to tell Harry that.

 

            Over the next weeks Draco learned he didn’t have to.

            First it was little things, signs, like Harry playing with Draco’s fingers every time they were in reach, or Draco looking up from something beautiful to find Harry staring at his expression instead of the wonderful thing they were supposed to be looking at. Over time it got more and more. Harry made jokes about the horror of five minutes spent alone while Draco was in the bathroom. Except he kept doing it. So much so that Draco started to realize maybe he meant it, a little.

            Not that five minutes alone were the worst thing in the world. But maybe that being away from Draco was. For too long or in any serious way.

            One morning Draco woke up and he felt it, that sluggish pull of no no no pounding in his head and making it impossible to do anything but think. Thinking in circles. Trying to get up and being pulled back again.

            When Harry finally got worried about his lukewarm responses and came in, it was to find Draco still in bed, staring into space.

            “What’s wrong?”

            Draco shook his head.

            “Nightmare?”

            “No, just-” Draco shook his head again.

            “Bad day?” Harry asked. That phrase rang more of a bell.

            Draco hummed. They were supposed to go to a museum. They had tickets- special tickets for something.

            “Draco?”

            “Hmm?”

            “You have to get up. If you don’t we’re going to miss the first train.”

            They could take the second train. Or no train at all. Draco suggested neither.

            Harry sighed and got into bed next to him. Took his hand. “Draco?”

            “Yes?”

            “We can lay here for five more minutes, but then you have to come with me, because I am not wandering around a museum alone looking like an idiot whilst worrying about you wallowing in misery, and you did not buy these tickets two locations in advance just so we could waste them.”

            “Okay.”

            Five minutes later- or maybe ten, Harry was always too patient- Harry pulled his hand. “Come and get ready?”

            Draco hummed and got up.

            It wasn’t ‘til they were halfway through the museum that Draco realized. “Oh,” he said quietly.

            Harry touched his shoulder. “What?”

            “You’re with me,” Draco said.

            “Yes.”

            “Really with me.”

  
            “Yes,” Harry said, with even more steadiness and certainty this time. When Draco didn’t know what to say back, Harry added, “You’re with me.”

            Draco cocked his head.

            “You’ve been with me since the first day. On the plane.” Harry was smiling. He was always smiling now.

            Draco smiled, too, and everything hurt less.

 

            They started sharing a bed in Italy.

            Draco hadn’t known exactly when it happened; one day he woke up in Harry’s room and the next Harry woke up in his, and after that they did away with the pretense altogether and cancelled one of the reservations.

            “We could have saved so much money!”

            “I know.” Draco knew better than to argue, now. He was propped on an arm gazing at Harry, who had flung himself into bed fully dressed the second they stumbled in from a night of seeing Venice.

            Harry had just pointed out that they preferred opposite sides of the bed and he wouldn’t have minded sleeping in the same one with Draco long before anything had happened between them. “I can’t believe neither of us realized. You know, it would have got you into bed with me much sooner?”

            Draco laughed. “Of course it would have. Though Merlin knows whether or not we would have started snuggling on the first night or felt the whole thing so unnecessarily awkward that we waited twice as long to tell each other.”

            “Doesn’t matter, now. You finally kissed me.”

            “You kissed back,” Draco pointed out.

            Harry was already falling asleep. “Yes… I did.”

            Draco wanted to watch Harry fall asleep for all the rest of the nights there were.

            The next morning the first shadow in a long time appeared over their journey. “We have to go back eventually, you know?”

            “I know,” Draco said. They were sitting in a café in the sun; both of them liked people-watching and Draco didn’t care what they did as long as he got in a few good sights and hours and hours and hours with Harry.

            “I wish we didn’t have to. We could stay in Italy and actually learn the language.”

            Draco laughed. “Maybe. But I was promised France.”

            “Right. France.” Harry gazed at Draco with so much fondness it nearly broke his heart.

            “I’m sorry you remembered,” Draco said.  
            “What, France?” But that wasn’t what Draco had meant and Harry knew it.

            “No. Leaving. Going home.” All Harry did was sigh. Draco reached out to cover Harry’s hand with his. “I really am sorry.”

            Harry smiled sadly. “You should stop apologizing.”

            “I know. But I don’t like to think about it. Something to do with the OCD, I think, but I- it hurts too much. Knowing everything’s temporary. The only thing that matters is whether you realize it or not.”

            Harry flipped his hand over. “This isn’t temporary.”

            “Promise?”

            “Of course I do.”

            “Well, that makes me feel better.”

            “Me, too.” Harry sprung up. “Where are we going today, then?”

            “Eat everything in the city before we leave?”

            “Good plan.”

            By the end of the day Draco didn’t think they’d quite accomplished it, but damn if they hadn’t come close.


	7. Chapter 7

            “Why do we do this everywhere we go?”

            “Do what?” Harry asked.

            Draco blinked. “Sit at cafes and watch people go by.”

            Harry shrugged. “It’s a good way of enjoying being here, I think. And isn’t Paris where we’re most supposed to do this?”

            Draco laughed. “I suppose you’re right. Although you’d think fewer people would want hot coffee on a day like this.”

            Harry hummed and sipped his cold sugary thing.

            Draco tried not to wonder how many more mornings like this they’d have.

            “What are you thinking about?”

            “Nothing.”

            “That’s shite. I’ve learned how to read your expressions, Draco Malfoy, and I can tell that that one isn’t nothing. What are you thinking about?”

            “If I play the OCD card will you back off?”

            Harry sighed. “I’d rather you didn’t. I am with you, you know.”

            “Yes.” Draco swirled his straw and looked up. “Alright. Fine. I was thinking we have a limited number of mornings like this, and the thought isn’t very pleasant.”

            Harry placed a hand on his. “What was it you said in Italy? Knowing everything is temporary hurts?”

            “I believe those were my very words.”

            Harry coaxed his eyes up with one of his looks. “What’d I say back?”

            “You’re not temporary.”

            “No. And neither are you. And neither is this. So what are we going to do to help you forget?”

            “I don’t know. Your last few made-up stories about strangers haven’t been very interesting.”

            Harry laughed. “Fine, then.” He sprung up, pulling Draco with him. “Let’s see the whole city, then. Where d’you want to go?”

            Draco’s immediate instinct was to yank his hand away from Harry’s and glance around for pureblood gossips. He managed to override this and gripped harder instead. “You mean we’re going to go walking around like this?”

            “Sure we are.”

            “But won’t people….” Draco waved his free hand.

            “My darling Draco,” Harry said with much too much enthusiasm, “We’re in Paris. They practically invented homosexuality. And it’s a new millennium. Jesus was born nearly a hundred years ago.”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “Since when did you concern yourself with the Christian calendar?”

            “Clearly never, or I’d’ve gone back to London far sooner than this. Fortunately you’re more important than the calendar, and fortunately we’re in Paris, and fortunately we both possess wands.”

            “Was that an innuendo or are you being serious?” When Harry didn’t answer, Draco added, “You mean we’re going to hex anyone who looks at us the wrong way?”

            Harry shrugged. “I was thinking confound them, but a hex would do just as well so long as we don’t get caught doing it.”

            Draco hesitated.

            “I won’t let anything happen. I’ll apparate us away and worry about getting arrested later.”

            “This is really important to you?” Draco had spent years marveling at the seeming disregard Harry had for others’ opinions of him. It was a lesson Draco had had to learn for himself; care too much and you’re bound for disappointment- if not in yourself, than in everyone you expected would appreciate you. There was no easy way out of that one.

            “I think it’ll be good. I think it’ll feel… freeing, or something.”

            Draco laughed. “Harry, you and I have been to Ghana. We’ve been to India. We’ve been… almost everywhere. What about holding hands in the street is going to top that?”

            “Do you want to try?”

            Well, now Harry’d made such a big deal of it.

            Five minutes later they were walking up to Notre Dame in a crowded street where no one looked twice at them, and Draco understood what he meant. “Oh. I get it.”

            “Do you?”

            “Yes. Straight people can snog in the streets. So it shouldn’t be a miracle we can hold hands.”  
            “Exactly. Though I’d advise against snogging in the church.”

            “It’s beautiful.” It still took Draco’s breath away. He’d been in or past it on an almost yearly basis his entire life, and the sight still awed him.

            “Yeah. It is.” Harry was doing it again.

            “You’re doing it again.”

            “What?”

            Draco turned to him. “Looking at me instead of the thing we’re supposed to be looking at.”

            Harry beamed and glanced away. "Sorry. Shall we go in?"

            "We'd be awful tourists if we didn't," Draco said, and pulled him towards the door.

            The cathedral was swarming with people, milling down either side of the main stretch and oohing and ahhing at the architecture and stained glass. They'd come at a peak time for visitors and an off time for mass, it seemed; surprisingly few people sat in the center area in prayer or appreciation.

            For a moment Draco stared up at the celing in awe. He'd seen plenty of cathedrals and expected he would again, but there was a calmness to them that made the air itself feel reverent. It got him every time. "You're doing it again."

            "I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, even though Draco could feel his eyes on the side of his face. Finally Harry looked around. "Oh."

            "Yes, oh. Two centuries to build, Harry. And they didn't have magic."

            "How high is the ceiling?"

            "Thirty meters at least. I don't remember exactly. The last time I came here I was a bit distracted."

            "Distracted by what?"

            Draco glanced down at Harry. The sight of him somewhere old and familiar was better than Harry standing in front of a new monument in a new country; this was his place, one of Draco's places for as long as he could remember, and Harry being there was almost overwhelming. "Doesn't matter now. And I'm equally distracted, you know."

            Harry blushed. "Don't look at me. Look at the cathedral. Look at the architecture. And the stained glass."

            "Yes," Draco tore his eyes away. "It is rather beautiful, isn't it?"

            "It's amazing."

            Draco hummed and pulled Harry forward to begin their meandering route around the cathedral. They passed statues and reliefs and paintings and stained glass windows. Sometimes Harry would glance around and then reach out and touch something. Then he would pull away, grinning, and say “I’ve touched something centuries old,” and Draco would remind him he’d met people centuries old and touching a statue wasn’t nearly so special.

            Then Harry would bump their shoulders and drag Draco on to the next thing. If he didn’t have Harry dragging him he expected they would’ve been there hours.

            “What are you going to be like when we go to the Louvre?” Harry asked fondly as they stepped back into the sunlight.

            Draco shrugged. “That’s arrondissements away.”

            “What’s an arrondissement?”

            “I believe I already told you, but because you didn’t remember you’re the one buying the gift for mother from said arrondissement.”

            “A present from the Louvre?”

            “Where else?” Draco led them down the street, back towards the river so they could get off l’Ile de la Cite and, eventually, down to the Louvre. Midway across the bridge they stopped to watch a street artist paint. “You know,” Draco said, “this is nice.”

            Harry squeezed his hand. “Of course it’s nice, I’m with you.”

            “No, silly. I mean this. Watching one piece of art. The cathedral’s one thing, because the building’s a masterwork, but the Louvre is worse.”

            “What do you mean, worse?”

            “The whole building is a work of art. But it’s much bigger than the cathedral. It’s a palace. There’s art everywhere. There’s art on the walls, and the ceilings are painted, even the floor’s impeccably designed. It’s overwhelming. I don’t think I could go through there alone, because if I did I’d be in there all day.”

            “Do you want to be there all day?”

            Draco turned to Harry. “No. Of course not. There have to be things you want to do.”

            “There are. But we’ve got some time. Do you want to be in the Louvre all day today?”

            “I… well… I wouldn’t turn it down.” Draco’d never been asked that by anyone. He’d visited Paris with the people he loved most in this world and not once had one of them said, Draco, our six-course meal can wait ‘til tomorrow, let’s spend another few hours in the Louvre.

            “Then we’ll go there for the rest of the day. We can see my stuff tomorrow.”

            “Harry, you don’t have to-”

            “I’m not. Besides, I’m already doing something I want to do today.” He squeezed Draco’s hand again.

            “Alright.” Draco determined to pick the best gift he could find and say Harry’d chosen it.

 

            Harry was so nervous Draco decided they should leave Paris a few days early to visit his mother.

            They hadn’t told anyone- well, they had told people, sort of, but as far as Draco knew neither of them had explained the extent of their relationship to their families quite yet.

            Though Draco bringing Harry at all did most of the explaining.

            Somehow Draco wasn’t nervous. No, not somehow. Draco wasn’t nervous because he knew his mother loved him and he knew she’d love Harry and also Harry was generating enough anxiety for the both of them.

            “Have you got your pills?” Draco asked before they apparated.

            Harry nodded.

            Draco reached out to touch his face. “It’s going to be alright, you know? I think she already loves you for taking me off the market. Not to mention saving my life.”

            “I don’t owe you anything, Draco Malfoy, and if you so much as bring it up in front of her I swear to Merlin’s arse I’ll-”

            “Okay. I won’t say a word, I promise.” Draco kept his expression even and calm (he was feeling even and calm, miracle of miracles) until Harry’s expression cooled and he nodded. “Alright. You ready?” Draco asked.

            Harry nodded again and got much closer than apparition strictly demanded.

            They went straight to the doorstep.

            “Fuck,” Harry said under his breath. He dropped everything but Draco’s hand.

            “It’s going to be alright. You’re safe. Alright?”

            “Yeah. Yes. I know, I just… shite.” Harry was practically vibrating with nervous energy.

            “Would it help if I held onto you?”

            “What do you mean, you’re already- wait, like how?”

            “I can put my arm around you and promise not to move it. Unless you want me to, obviously.”

  
            Harry stared. “But we’re going to meet your mother. Wouldn’t that- I don’t know, wouldn’t that be- too forward, or something?”

            “Would you feel better if I held onto you?”

            “Yes?” It came out like a question.

            “Then it’ll be fine. Okay?”

            “Yeah.” Harry turned to the door again.

            Draco wrapped an arm around his waist. “Okay?” He could feel Harry was shaking a bit; he tensed a little under Draco’s touch.

            “Yeah.” Harry took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. The shaking mostly stopped. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

            Draco knocked.

 

            Narcissa didn’t want them to leave.

            No matter how many times Harry hinted that he felt like they were imposing or Draco mentioned that they had a whole continent left to at least get some idea of, she continued to say they should just finish their holiday there and they’d be welcome any time and really if it was easier to move in than deal with the nightmarish press in London she’d be happy to have them.

            To Draco’s mother’s credit, she didn’t mention London very often. After the first time she dropped the name she noticed how tense he got at the thought of anything compromising his relationship with Harry in the slightest- and his mother had never been a risk of that, Draco realized, which was why he hadn’t been worried about it- Narcissa kept her ancestral home references to a minimum. More than anything Draco got the feeling she was trying to make Harry as comfortable as she wanted the rest of Draco’s friends to feel with her; she wanted Harry to feel like he was part of the family.

            Which Harry received very well considering that same family and he didn’t exactly have the greatest history.

            Narcissa never asked, but Draco tried to mention the beginnings of their relationship enough to satisfy her burning curiosity. A few moments later Harry would say something along the lines of ‘love conquers all’ and start looking at Draco like he’d hung the moon, and Narcissa would give Draco this look, like, you’ve got a good one, I can’t believe how much he loves you that almost rivals me I love you you deserve it, and Draco would sit there in the middle of it feeling ridiculous and happy both at once.

            The first time it happened was over tea after Harry had stopped being jumpy but before he’d forgotten he had anxiety pills.

            “Why did you cut your trip short? I’m honored, of course, to have you, but wasn’t it your first time in Paris?”

            The question was directed by Narcissa to an uncertain-looking Harry. Harry glanced over to Draco and communicated a desire for help like Draco couldn’t already read it all over his face. “Yes.”

            “He knows we’re going back, and unfortunately I’m so familiar with the city it only took a few days to get through all the things worth seeing.”

            Narcissa mimed affront. “Darling, how could you? The Louvre alone would take a month.”

            “Is that why we see a different part each vacation?”

            Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Could never get enough of French museums, my son. I’m sure you bored poor Harry to tears going on at length about your favorites-”

            “He didn’t.” It was the first time Harry interrupted; Draco and Narcissa and Draco and Harry did it all the time, but Harry hadn’t interrupted Narcissa once since they’d arrived. He looked surprised with himself for a moment. Then he fell into it like it was nothing. “He knew all the strangest stories. I think-” Harry glanced at Draco. Not glanced, looked. The look. The one that prompted Narcissa’s look. “-I think I could take him there every year for the rest of his life and I’d never have to get him another thing.”

            Draco was as used to Harry’s looks as one could get. He was also used to Narcissa’s visual communication. Never had the two competed so valiantly for his attention. Draco confirmed that yes, his mother really was saying Harry was magnificent and really really loved him, before turning his eyes to Harry. “If I weren’t expecting an elaborate gesture every now and again I would agree.”

            “Yes.” Harry laughed. “You and your elaborate gestures.”

            The exchange of gazes happened often after that. Draco didn’t mind. It had been too long since he’d had two people who loved him in the same room.

            By the time they left Draco’s mother was saying ‘love you’ to Harry like she’d known him all his life, and the thought of London was less horrifying because if they could come back to this large sprawling cottage in the French countryside they wouldn’t have to worry about finding peace after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the spacing it's a little weird throughout

            November settled in like a weight.

            Draco couldn’t believe they’d been gone that long. Couldn’t believe he wanted to be gone longer. He’d be content wandering the globe with Harry for the rest of his days.

            But he missed his family, his London family. And he could feel that Harry missed his family, too, every time Draco hugged him and he felt something in Harry pull away.

            “We need to go home,” Draco said after one of these hugs.

            “No,” Harry said. There was no feeling in it.

            “Yes.”

            Harry met his eyes and sighed. “How are we going to get back, then?”

            They were in Brazil. “Don’t know,” Draco said. “Make a couple more stops and be home by December?”

            “Yeah. Reckon that’ll be long enough.” Harry peered out the window. “Why are we following the sun?”

            Draco shrugged. “Don’t know. You’ll miss the heat when we get home, though.”

            “No, I won’t.” Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him down onto the bed. “I’ll miss this, though. Being alone with you.”  
  

          “You’ll still get to be alone with me. And you miss your family.”

            Harry frowned. “You miss yours.”

            When Harry didn’t move for a minute, Draco said, “If all you’re going to do is nap we may as well turn around and fly straight home right now.”

            “No!” Harry sat straight and gripped Draco’s hand. “I don’t care the weather’s miserable and neither of us can cast the right charm to handle it. We’ll go to a museum. I- really.”

            Because as much as they wanted to go home the thought of leaving it, of leaving this peace and freedom and easiness they’d found, was daunting. And Draco couldn’t imagine cutting their honeymoon short and he didn’t think Harry could either. “Where should we go?”

            Harry relaxed. “Dunno. Anywhere with air conditioning.”

 

            Their last plane ride was nothing like their first.

            Draco knew in his bones that it wasn’t their last one together, but it was the end of the trip. The far right bookend that closed everything off and made it so that they had to be in the real world again.

            Harry still got nervous on planes. Nothing like the anxiety he’d had before; the only thing that was the same as that first ride was the way Harry gripped Draco’s hand. Tight, fingers pressing in, like he couldn’t imagine letting go. Draco didn’t want him to. He knew they’d be apart for days when they landed, and neither of them knew what that felt like after this, and Draco was sickly grateful that at least he had these last few hours to just be with Harry.

            Experience had taught Draco that anxiety was best headed off with planning, at least where drastic life events were concerned. The plans may go up in smoke but at least they’d have been attempted, at least they’d have been prepared.

            “We’ve got hours left and I know from that look that you aren’t going to sleep any more, so I think it’s time to make a plan.”

            Harry’s bewilderment was almost real enough to fool Draco. “A plan for what?”

            “For, you know. Everything.”

            Harry sighed and broke eye contact. When he was able to tear his eyes from the window and look at Draco again, he said, “Fine. It’s something about the OCD, isn’t it?”

            “No. It’s something about knowing what we’re doing when we get off the plane.”

            Harry sighed again. “Yes. Right. Gryffindor strategy doesn’t work for everyone.”

            “No.”

            Then Harry must have caught the look in Draco’s eyes- the one that was trying to say ‘there is absolutely no way this conversation will turn dark, I would never do that to you you know better’- because he leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder and said, “What will we do first?”

            “I expect we’ll both want to go home and unpack.”

            “Yes. Right. Have you ever seen my house?”

            “Yes. But you haven’t seen mine. Is it too late to invite you over?”

            Harry laughed. “No. Not if it’s not too late for me to invite you. I’m sure the place has changed substantially in the decades since you’ve seen it.”

  
            “I’m sure. I don’t even remember it well, really. Just hazy memories of adults arguing very loudly over tea. I’m sure it was something about politics. Even at the ripe old age of three I didn’t want to get involved.”

            “I’m surprised you can remember anything at all from when you were three. All I’ve got are a few of Dudley’s tantrums and the first time he tried to push me down the stairs.”

            “I thought we agreed to keep this conversation in the realm of fantasy?”

            Draco felt Harry smile into his shoulder. “We did, sort of, but as long as I’m not mentioning your failed attempt to get into politics I think we’re succeeding.”

            It was Draco’s turn to sigh. “You know, I really am excited about the future.”

            “So am I. Even with the shite.”

            “So tell me what it looks like. Our future.”

            Harry closed his eyes. “I don’t know. I suppose after a good week or so one of us will want to move in with the other. I’m not giving up the house, though, so unless you’ve got a brilliant flat be prepared to lose that row.”

            “There won’t be a row. I like my place, but I’m not especially fond of it. I’d much rather move in with you.”

            “Hmm. Alright. Now that’s settled, I suppose we should move on to the other things. Will you keep doing your temp work?”

            Draco laughed. “I hadn’t thought about it. To be honest I’ve been considering writing a book.”

            “A book? So I get the tortured artist husband, then? Wonderful.”

            “We haven’t talked about that.”

            “No, we haven’t,” Harry agreed.

            “You’ll marry me, then?”

            “Of course I’ll marry you. In whatever way’s legal.”

            Draco kissed the top of Harry’s head. “It’s legal in the wizarding world.”

            “Good. On to the next thing, then. We’re married and we’ll live at Grimmauld Place. You’ll be an author. What will I do?”

            “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

  
            Harry thought for a long time. Then, “I think I’d like to be a painter. Or a baker. I could run a flower shop or something. I don’t know, either. Something with my hands. Something where I can see people who don’t know my name already.”

            “That would be quite nice. Who’s got the tortured artist husband, now, though?”

            “Both of us, I suppose. But baking hardly counts as art.”

            “It does if you do it right.” Draco could see it. He could see them being happy, being away from everything even though they were in London. They could make it work. They could find a way, somehow.

            “What kind of book are you going to write?”

  
            “I was thinking memoir. That’d sell best. Need to find some way to pay for your bakery, you know.”

  
            “I haven’t settled on that, yet. Maybe I want to make brooms instead. Or be a professional Quidditch player.”  
           

            “If you wanted to be a professional Quidditch player you would’ve joined up at the same time as Ginny.”

            “You call my friends by their first names, now. I like it. It’s nice.”

  
            “I’ve been doing it for weeks at least. Nice you’ve finally noticed, though.”

            Harry bumped his knee. “Didn’t want to bring it up in case I was dreaming.”

            “Let’s get back to dreaming.”

            “Alright. We’ve got a house and jobs, I suppose. What’s next?”

            “How many times a week are we going to drag our friends over so we can show off how happy we are?”

            Harry laughed. “Oh, yes, that. I did the Friday thing before, but I don’t know if that’ll work. What with the bakery and the Quidditch matches and all.”

            “Are you doing both now?”

            “I don’t know. When did you see your friends?”

            “Whenever they were in the country.”

            “I thought Pansy still lived there.”

            “She does, but she travels.”

            “Ahh.” Harry nodded. “For the fashion. Yes. So will we have her over once a month, then?”

            “If she’s in the country. I expect every once in a while she’ll want to stay over so she can have her house completely redecorated. D’you think you can handle a week with her?”

            Harry leaned back and looked up at Draco. “If I’ve got a lifetime with you, I don’t think a week with one of your friends will be much of a bother.”

            Draco went red and Harry smiled and laid on his shoulder again.

            Harry didn’t even need to say it. Draco could feel it through his hand, feel the ‘I’m never leaving you ever’ crackling through his magic like a pleasant breeze. They were on the plane back and they were- Harry wasn’t leaving. They were going to go back and nothing would ever be the same and that would be amazing, because Draco had Harry now and Harry had Draco now too.

“What’s next?” Harry asked. “After the friends?”

            “Family dinners?” Draco didn’t have to ask. He just knew. He knew half the things Harry was going to say before he’d said them. They knew everything about each other. All the important bits, at least. They’d all been filled in. Draco wasn’t asking because he didn’t know what Harry did for family dinners; he was asking because he didn’t know what they were going to do for family dinners now. Now that they were together.

            “Oh, them. Well, the Weasleys have everyone over who can make it every Sunday. What about your mum?”

            Draco hadn’t thought his mother was lying when she said Harry was absolutely lost for him, he just- they were on the plane and it was still real. “I expect it won’t be dinners with her so much as more weeks.”

            “Mmm, yes. So will we be going over there, then?”

            “I don’t know. Depends if she wants to come to London.” She would. For them. She wouldn’t care. She loved Harry and Draco and she was glad they were together. Not like they wouldn’t have come up with a way to deal with the press by the time she visited.

            They were quiet for a minute. Then Harry said, “So when are we going to have kids?”

            Draco tried not to get dizzy. “Oh, that’s a good transition into that conversation.”

            “Well,” Harry said defensively, sitting up again, “We’re engaged, aren’t we?”

            Draco felt his face break out in a grin. He wasn’t dizzy at all. He’d never felt so stable in his life. “Of course we are.”

            “We should figure that out before we get married, then.”

            “We haven’t set a date.”

            “What makes you think we aren’t going to elope?”

            Harry’s expression was too much. Draco yanked him closer and leaned on Harry’s shoulder. “If I look at you one more second I’ll burst out laughing.”

            “I’m serious,” Harry murmured.

            “I know you are. That makes it worse.”

            “Alright. So marriage is a joke, then.”

            “Of course it’s a joke. The muggles won’t do it and the wizarding law’s centuries old.”

            “Centuries? We’ve been able to get married for centuries?”

            “Not the whole time. Sure it was legal by the time Dumbledore got in with the Ministry, though.”

            Harry laughed. “Good old Dumbledore. I thought we weren’t getting serious?”

            “You said you were serious three seconds ago. And you’re the one who brought up children.”

            “Ah, okay. I’m doing the imagining the future thing wrong, then, am I?”

            “No.” Draco started rubbing circles on the back of Harry’s hand. “You were talking about our children?”

            “Right. We’re going to adopt them. How do you adopt in the wizarding world?”

            “Never thought about it. We might just have to do the muggle way. So you’d be the authority on that, then.”

            Harry snorted. “Yes, right. Because I’m so concerned with parenting. I don’t even have a job.”

            “I got the feeling you were leaning for baker.”

            “Right. I’ll make all their birthday cakes myself.”

            “I want to help.” Draco hadn’t thought he’d be sleepy, but he found his eyes drooping anyway. “I think I might fall asleep.”

            “Alright, then. Shall I keep dreaming without you?”

            “Sleep’s the best time to dream, you-” Draco yawned “-wanker.”

            “I’m so glad I’ve got a husband with a sense of humor.”

  
            “You’d better be.”

            “Go to sleep.”

            “What if you need me?”

            “I promise I’ll wake you.”

            Draco woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. The light was different and his leg was numb. “How long do we have left?”

            Harry shrugged. “Not long. Did you want to pick up where we left off?”

            “I think we were about to name the children.”

            “We can’t name them if they’ve already got names.”

            “Shite.” Draco was only just beginning to realize how much potential lay ahead of them. “Always thought I’d be in an arranged marriage.”

            “Always?”

            Draco shook his head. “Guess you weren’t the only one who needed time to readjust.”

            “Guess not.”

           

            When they began the descent Draco’s heartbeat picked up into a frenzy.

            For all their planning, they hadn’t actually decided anything. They were landing. They were getting off the plane. Once they got into London he’d be away from Harry for hours. Whole hours. Twelve of them, probably.

            Harry seemed to have made up his mind not to worry anymore, which was lovely. He reminisced about their trip as they got off the plane. The constant stream of pleasant memories was hard to focus on when Draco thought about the next step and the step after that and the step after that and-

            And they were engaged.

            Draco took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on Harry’s discussion of Australia.

            “You were only sunburned for, like, a week that time.”

            Ah, that. “I’m never going back to Australia. Ever again.”

            “The Australians loved you.”

            “They were making fun of me.” Draco settled into the conversation, reminding himself that the only part that even mattered that much- bringing Harry home to his mother- had already happened and that there was no way a Prophet reporter would be staking out a muggle airport around the holidays when every wizard in their right mind was taking Ministry transport to avoid the crowds.

            “They weren’t.”

            “They were. It was written all over their… oh, Merlin.” Draco stopped dead, earning them a few annoyed titters from the people behind them.

            “You alright?”

            “Yes, I just-” Draco turned to him. He’d tried to go along with it, he really had, but- “We’re back in England.”

            “Yes we are.”

            “Like… permanently back.”

            “I believe you made me promise six times while we were in California that we’d-”

            “Harry. We’re _engaged_.”

            After a whoop from somewhere to their left that both of them ignored and the complete resignation of the line of people streaming off the plane to the fact that neither of them were moving anytime soon (they’d stopped tutting and were possibly assuming personal emergency, which, to be honest, it sort of was one), Harry’s expression transformed. “Oh, shit.”

            “Yes, Harry. Oh, shit.”


	9. Chapter 9

            They had known the entire time that it wasn’t permanent. Sure, it’d been difficult to accept once they’d realized they made a fucked-up sort of sense together, but they had always _known_. Harry remembered at least four separate conversations, at various points along their relationship, that the two of them had had regarding their inevitable return to England. Which was happening whether they liked it or not after the year was up because they had friends and families and… roots, or something. The more-socially-aware-travel-partner part of Harry’s brain kicked in and told him to move, so he dragged Draco a few steps to the left so they could have their belated crisis out of the way of the final few people straggling off the plane.

            “Fucking hell,” Harry finally said.

            “Where are we going to live?”

            Harry stared. “Er, Grimmauld Place? We’ve been over this?”

            “No, I mean… What if they want me to take over the Manor after we get married?”

            “You said they wouldn’t.”

            “But what if they do?”

            Harry contemplated this for a second. He did have his heart set on trying to live in his house, but after living with Draco for months nonstop he was pretty sure he could handle anything for him. Come to think of it, Harry realized they hadn’t spent more than an hour away from each other during that entire time. It’d be hell to get used to in reverse, probably.

            About as hard as getting used to being around each other 24/7 had been.

            Harry pulled on Draco’s hand and said, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

            Draco laughed. “You’ve barely lived there, and I never have.”

            Harry tipped his head to the side in that way that made Draco smile like he didn’t want to but couldn’t help it. “Still be home, though.”

            “Right. I’ll be with you,” Draco said, as if that resolved everything. And maybe it did, because there was really no right way to do anything after spending an unexplained year abroad and falling in love with your former rival.

            Luckily both of them were pretty decent at figuring things out as they came.

 

            “Jesus fucking Christ, Harry.” Ron was on the couch next to the chair Harry was in.

            “Sorry.”

            Hermione sighed. She was on the sofa a few inches from Ron, looking mostly relieved and a little disappointed. “You’ve apologized about sixteen times since you’ve come in.”

            “It seemed worth repeating.”

            “Yeah. I mean… wow.” Ron shook his head.

            Harry poured as much sincerity into his voice as he could to say, “I really am sorry, Ron.” Because he wasn’t sorry about taking a break or falling in love with Draco, but he was sorry about leaving them with almost no warning, probably to do some of the things people would’ve been trying to get him to do if he’d been around. The healing things. Harry had basically told them they could take all the help they offered and go fuck themselves, because he was fine on his own.

            Even though he really really wasn’t.

            “You shouldn’t be apologizing,” Hermione said. They stared at her. “Well, I mean, it makes sense. Needing a break after everything that happened.”

            Harry smiled slightly. “That was sort of what we were thinking.” He hadn’t meant to whip out the joint pronouns that early in the afternoon, but, well- it was done.

            “So it’s true, then?” asked Hermione. Her voice was surprisingly calm, considering.

            “Yeah.” He and Draco had seen the rumors from a distance, a collection of wildly inaccurate headlines and speculations ranging from elopement to kidnapping. “None of that Prophet rubbish was anywhere near the truth. Both of us just needed to be… away, for a while.”

            Harry hadn’t left them questioning his safety- he’d owled plenty over the past year to let them know he was alright and not planning on extending the trip. They hadn’t been ecstatic about the length of time once he’d finally told them that bit, but the replies they sent had been understanding.

            Which Ron and Hermione evidently both still were. “We don’t want to push you, but both of us were sort of hoping that…” Hermione trailed off.

            “You deserve an explanation,” Harry agreed.

            “Not if you’re not willing to give one,” Ron said hastily.

            “No. I am.” Harry took a breath. “We’re together now.”

            “Now?” Ron’s eyebrows disappeared into his fringe.

            “Yes, now. We weren’t, when it started. We were just- like I said, both of us needed to leave. To be surrounded by something other than this… mess. We weren’t together, we weren’t friends, but I knew the muggle world and he knew how to travel. Neither of us would have done as well alone given the gaping holes in our respective world experiences. And, as you’re probably aware, we tend to jump into things without paying much attention to the consequences, especially where the two of us are involved. Should have been a tip-off, I guess. At the beginning, though, we actually had a running bet about which of us would lose his mind first.”

            Ron was almost smirking. “Did you win?”

            Harry grinned. “Technically it was a tie. And, er, about that- we’re also engaged.”

            Hermione’s “oh, Harry” was muffled by her hands. Ron looked like he was debating whether to congratulate Harry or ask if he was joking. He settled on, “Engaged, eh?”

            “Yes.”

            Hermione raised her head, sounding resigned. “You could have been more explicit about the relationship in your letters.”

            “I didn’t think- it seemed like the sort of thing I should tell you in person.”

            “The relationship, or the engagement?” Ron asked faintly.

            “Both.”

            “Some warning might have been nice.”

            Hermione turned to Ron at that. “We did get _a bit_ of warning, Ronald.”

            His eyebrows disappeared again. “That they were friendly, sure. But engaged?”

            “I will admit it’s more than I expected, but I can’t say the possibility didn’t occur to me around the third month.”

            Harry gaped at her. “The third month? I didn’t know I liked him, let alone more than that, until the fifth. And- it was- I mean, we got engaged yesterday.” The part about Harry not knowing he liked Draco was absolute rubbish, but, in Harry’s defense, you could be friends with someone without having feelings for them, for Merlin’s- ah, fuck it. Didn’t matter now.

            “I was going to say four,” Ron contributed. “Although I clearly missed the signals Hermione was reading. I just thought you’d be dragging him to pub nights and borrowing each other’s Quidditch gear or something. Not that it isn’t nice,” Harry could see the effort it took for Ron to hold back a wince, “that the two of you have, er- each other.” Ron sounded like he was still in shock, which was understandable. Harry’d told him and Hermione pretty much everything until a couple years ago. “Yesterday, you said?”

  
            “Yeah. On the plane, we sort of, um- sort of just agreed to it.”

            “Ahh.” Ron nodded. "Congratulations."

            "Yes, Congratulations, Harry."

            Harry was amazed he’d made it this far unscathed. They really were something. Didn’t deserve his crap, but, well. It was done. And he didn’t regret it. “Thank you. Both of you.”

            Hermione laughed. “Don’t thank us yet, Harry. We haven’t met him yet. And, honestly, you shouldn’t be thanking us any more than you should be apologizing. After everything you went through for this country, the least they could do is- oh!” she cut off in surprise as Harry’s unexpected hug landed harder than he’d intended.

            “Sorry.”

            “Don’t you dare say that again while you’re in my house,” she said, hugging him back.

            Ron joined the hug. “We just want you to be happy.”

            “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in a year,” Harry said. Because he couldn’t.

            “It was a slightly unorthodox vacation strategy,” said Hermione as they broke apart.

            “I think Ron’d go with ‘slightly mental,’ but either way-”

            “You know, Harry, I don’t think I would.” When he met Ron’s eyes, Harry found only support. And a bit of empathy because really what kind of breaks was Ron getting from work if they put him on muggle transport for half the trips?

            “You two are the best friends.” Harry sat back in his chair, feeling incredibly grateful and hopelessly inadequate. “The best friends there ever were.”

            “You’re not bad,” Ron mused. “I mean, Ginny didn’t tell us she was doing the nasty with Pansy Parkinson until they showed up for Sunday dinner together-”

            “No!” Harry’d heard about the two of them, but he hadn’t the slightest idea how it had happened. All Draco told him was something about their exes finding comfort in each other because of course Harry and Draco were in a league all their own and thus destined to be together.

            “Yes. Aren’t she and Draco still in touch? She seemed to know at least half as much about your trip as we did,” reasoned Ron.

            Harry tried to mentally process Ron’s easy use of Draco’s first name and formulate a response at the same time. He managed, “We didn’t talk much about it. And Pansy only knew half?”

            Ron nodded. “I suppose that’d imply she and Draco don’t talk as much as you talk to us, but it might just not have come up, or she was respecting your privacy or something- and she’s a piece of work, mind, that woman, I don’t know how Ginny finds- well, no, I know exactly how she finds them,” said Ron with a pointed look at Harry.

            “Are you saying I’m like Pansy?” asked Harry innocently. He had, in fact, been informed by Draco of one or two ways in which he might resemble her, but that wasn’t something one mentioned when one’s best mate might be about to reveal some important personality judgments.

            “You mean are you out of your gourd and willing to do anything for that lanky blonde boy you’re apparently marrying?”

            Harry laughed. “You’ll hear no argument from me.”

            Ron sighed. “Well, at least she treats you as well as- I’m assuming Draco treats you like the greatest invention since- well, the greatest invention since your rivalry.”

            “No, actually. I mean, yes, he loves me, but he also treats me like a person.”

            Understanding flashed in Ron’s eyes. “That explains it, then.”

            “It does,” Hermione agreed.

            After a moment Ron said, “Still don’t know how he managed to get in your pants so fast.”

            Harry snorted. “It’s been a year, Ron.”

            “I know. It’ll take a few days for me to get used to it. Pansy’s still fresh.”

            “Sorry.”

            “Harry James Potter,” Hermione started, “If you apologize one more time-”

            Harry raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, so- I mean, I won’t! Jesus, Hermione.”

            “My house my rules, Harry.”

            “Yes. Right. I know. Done apologizing. For now.”

            And probably forever, because as much as Harry cared about the other people in his life the ones whose feelings mattered more than all the rest had given their blessing.

 

            Draco called him that night, the regular way, on the phone, and asked if Harry wanted to come over.

            “Come over for how long?” Harry asked.

            “Don’t be an arse.”

            “Okay, then. Yes. I’m coming over. I’ll walk, what’s your address?”

            When Harry got there he wasn’t the least bit surprised.

            After getting to know someone slowly and carefully as he’d got to know Draco, Harry found the place suited him perfectly. Draco lived in a flat that was part of a sectioned-off old house three stories high. The buildings on either side were taller, and the place had a terrace but Draco wasn’t on that floor. He was on the second, and his flat was beautiful. The walls were all painted warm colors, even the greens and blues, and the furniture looked old and well sat-on and worked-on and lived-with and loved.

            When Draco opened the door Harry smiled so hard it hurt.

            “What are you doing? Come in?” And Draco grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss and kicked the door shut behind them.

            “No, hold on, hold on,” Harry laughed. “I’m seeing your place.”

            “Ahh, right. The grand tour, then?”

            “Please.” Harry was glancing between a green and an orange wall and wondering how Draco’d chosen the colors.

            “This is the main room. Don’t you love it?” Draco swept one arm out grandly and kept the other around Harry’s waist.

            “It’s lovely. Why are your sofa cushions three different patterns?”

            “Luna. She’s the one who did them and I told her she could pick any colors as long as they matched the room.”

            Harry spent a minute taking in the books, magic and muggle, scattered everywhere, and the half-full mug of tea on a tray on the ottoman and the very old television with a stack of tapes next to it. “You like movies?”

            “Only the good ones.” Draco let go of Harry so he could drift farther into the room. “Would you like to see the kitchen?”

            “Yes.”

            The kitchen was a galley through a doorway that had a hole in the wall overlooking the living room. A peek in the cabinets (which earned an eye-roll from Draco) revealed mismatched dishes and food with brand names Harry identified as very expensive.

            “So, you eat like a member of the royal family but let Luna do your sofa cushions?”

            “Yes, exactly. Now can I show you the bedroom?”

            “Bathroom first,” Harry insisted, and led the way from the room even though he didn’t know where he was going. There were only two other doors, both across from the kitchen and both ajar.

            Half Draco’s things from his overlarge toiletries bag were strewn all over the counter. The shower curtain was a bright pattern that may have been a famous modernist artwork but could also have just been chosen to clash with the white tiles. When Harry turned from the tiny window he found Draco leaning in the doorway. “Have you enjoyed the tour?”

            “It’s not over, yet,” Harry said, smiling, and slipped past Draco and into the bedroom. “Oh,” Harry said then. There was a typewriter in a corner and a small stack of pages next to it. The bed was unmade and the walls were a pale teal color that reflected the light from the street coming through the cracked window. “Your window’s open. It’s December.”

            “I know it’s December,” Draco said. “And I know my window’s open. I like the sound.”

            Harry studied him for a moment.

            “Well?” Draco asked. “How was the tour, then?”

            “I thought it’d be cleaner.”

            “Oh, shut up, and please get over here before I lose my m-”

            Harry cut him off with a kiss.

 

            “Reckon we could live here.”

            Draco’s disbelieving stare bored into the side of Harry’s head. “What d’you mean?” He was on the side of the bed farther from the window, and he was turned towards Harry, so Draco was getting all the light.

            “We could live here. It’s nice.”

            “I thought you were happy with your place?”

            “I am. But I don’t want to take you out of here.”

            Draco snorted. “What will you do, sleep here and live there? Rent the place out, maybe?”

            Harry shrugged. “Don’t know. I really like your shower curtain.”

            “Take it, then.”

            “I’m not taking your-”

            “I’m far from ready to move tomorrow, Potter, but what on earth makes you think we wouldn’t be able to keep the shower curtain? It didn’t come with the flat, you know.”

            Harry laughed. “I know. But I can’t just take you out of your place.”

            “We’ll make Grimmauld ours, then. I’ll bring the sofa.”

            “Yeah?” Harry asked.

            “Yeah.”

            They’d talked about this. Harry didn’t know why he was feeling so weird when- well, actually, he knew exactly why he felt strange about it. Draco’s flat was living up to Draco and Harry couldn’t bear the thought of Draco living somewhere that didn’t match him. Harry’s woefully outdated house, for example. “Do you think we could stay here for a bit? Or- could I? And then you could stay at mine, so we could decide what we want to do with the place?”

            Draco sighed. “I was lying. I would move tomorrow.”

            “But my house isn’t yours. It isn’t even mine, really. It’s just… other peoples’ memories.”

            “We’ll fix it, then. As long as you give me time to work on my book.”

            “Is that it?” Harry nodded to the pages on the desk.

            “That’s what I was doing between yelling at Pansy for her lack of tact on the Ginevra matter and unpacking all my things using magic.”

            “Ron told me about that. No warning at all.”

            “I know.” Draco groaned and rolled onto his back. “I told her there are much better ways of getting into the Weasley family- mine, for example- but she seemed adamant on ripping off the bandage, as she put it.”

            Harry turned to face Draco. “So, when are we getting married?”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “As soon as we’re done with our house, of course.


	10. Chapter 10

            The house took ages.

            Draco wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, of course. He could imagine nothing better than spending each free moment- the ones between yelling at Pansy and frantically typing and staring at walls thinking of something to frantically type- with Harry. Half of the time they were with a friend or Weasley who’d had nothing better to do, and a quarter of the time they got into such a deep discussion about the design decisions they were making not a thing got done, but Draco didn’t mind.

            He didn’t mind the surprises, either; he loved them, the way one loves something ridiculous and unexpected and somehow good no matter what it is. Like George suggesting they paint one room purple and Draco agreeing. Or Pansy dragging Greg over because he made furniture and she wasn’t letting them finish the house without a custom piece of Merlin’s-arseing furniture. Or Harry singing along to the wireless one night and going on after the signal cut out so Draco finally realized how beautiful of a voice he had.

            And stupid as it sounded, because he wanted to be married, he really did, Draco liked being engaged.

            Because he still had something to be excited about- other than every day of the rest of his life being spent with Harry. Not that that wasn’t wonderful in and of itself.

            Harry also called him ‘husband’ already and it was ridiculous.

            “Husband?"

  
            “What?” Draco looked up from the piece of furniture he was staining.

            Harry’s eyes were flashing. “All we have left is that upstairs bathroom and the attic rooms.”

            “Yes,” Draco said evenly, returning to his paintbrush. “So?”

            “So how’s the wedding planning coming?

            “Pansy’s still not allowed to help.”

            Harry laughed. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? It’s because of what she did on Christmas.”

            “Was that a question? I thought you knew me better than that.”

            Harry went over to where Draco was sitting on the floor and crouched next to him to kiss his cheek. “I do. So, no, it wasn’t a question. Christmas was a disaster.”

            “I know. And I know shopping caused said disaster, but- do you trust me?” Draco put down the paintbrush and made eye contact.

            Harry was looking at him like he was out of his mind, in a sweet sort of way. “Of course I trust you.”

            “Right, well, terrible transition, but-” Draco stood and cast a spell to put the stain away and another to clean the paintbrush. “We’re going shopping.”

            Harry made a noise of distress.

            “We need to get the last few pieces of furniture before we send out wedding invitations, and it’s after the holiday. It won’t be busy.”

            Harry looked as if he very much doubted the truth of that statement.

            “I am not doing this,” Harry said twenty minutes later. They were standing at Tottenham Court Road station, and the sidewalks were swarming, and there were shops as far as the eye could see and Draco was willing to bet Harry didn’t recognize any of them.

            “We’re going shopping,” Draco said. “We need furniture.”

            “Why can’t we have just gone to Angel?”

  
            “Angel doesn’t have two of everything.”

            Harry’s eyes widened. “Two of- you mean like two of the same store on the same street?”

            Draco nodded and grabbed his hand. “Come on. First stop shady pop-up store next to the cheap Chinese restaurant. They may not have furniture, but I want to get you some nice shirts.”

            Harry groaned. He hated shopping.

            Draco hoped that the fact he was Harry’s personal shopper- and that they would need to pick out furniture at some point- would help.

            “How much money have you converted?” Harry asked.

            Draco gave him a look. “What, worried about your sugar daddy’s finances?”

  
            Harry turned red in spite of himself. “I’m rich, too, you know. Hell. I hate saying that.”

  
            Draco laughed. “You donate more than anyone else. The Ministry must have at least a tenth of your Gringotts vault by now. And you’re not exactly Malfoy-rich.”

            “Whose fault is that?”

            Draco pulled Harry to a stop just inside the pop-up store and sighed. “I am not the sole handler of my family’s finances, you know.” They’d long since reached the point they could talk about even stupid dangerous coupley things like money without hesitating; Draco still didn’t love it. Which was why he kept making everything into jokes. He knew Harry preferred it that way, as well.

            But Harry also loved Draco’s mother and would probably rather jump in front of a bus than insult her, so he said, “Sorry.”

            Draco hummed as if to say ‘it’s nothing’ and dragged Harry onwards. “I’m with you anyway. So if you count me in your donations starting, I don’t know, next year-”

            “We are not waiting that long to get married,” Harry hissed acidly. He had been promised invitations would go out within the month (they would, Draco didn’t go back on his word) and that they’d give people no more than three months’ notice (because Harry didn’t enjoy engagement nearly as much as Draco did and they really were almost done with the house).

            Draco laughed. They’d been doing the house forever, which meant they’d been engaged forever. But they were sticking to a plan. If Harry had his way he and Draco would rush through a muggle marriage and worry about the Ministry later, but Draco knew if they didn’t do the whole wizard family merging nightmare they’d have even more paperwork to worry about afterwards. Also the mothers Malfoy and Weasley were exceedingly pleased that they were having a classic wizarding wedding. Not like Narcissa had other children to do it, or like any of the other Weasleys (even Gin and Pansy) would have obliged them.

            Draco had been planning the wedding with Hermione, who was one of Harry’s best whatevers (obviously), because Ron hadn’t wanted to do it and Draco wouldn’t let anyone else do it, and Harry wanted nothing to do with it.

            “You know,” Harry said, “I think I deserve a reward for this.”

            Draco snorted. “I’m picking it out now.” He held up a shirt to Harry’s chest, staring harder than Harry liked anyone to stare in public. Draco hoped he was the exception. “Do you think this blue goes with your skin tone?”

            “I don’t know. Sure. But I meant a real reward. Like, if I make it to the bottom of the Oxford Street shopping, let you get me three shirts, and we manage to find furniture we actually like, we go straight to a muggle office and get married today.”  
            Draco sighed and gave him the Look. “You know how I feel about elopements.”

            “I recall you saying just yesterday that they were lovely.”

            “Yes. For people who don’t have best friends living vicariously through them.”

            Harry sighed. Draco’d figured out by that point that the quickest way to stop Harry complaining about their ridiculous wedding was to remind him that Hermione was having the time of her life planning it, because then Harry felt guilty. Never mind Hermione hadn’t given a damn about her own wedding so long as the food and the guest list were in order. She would be one of the people for whom elopements seemed to work.

            At least until now, because Harry was apparently cluing into Draco’s tactics more than usual. Because now Harry wanted to elope.

            Even though that was out of the question. Even though Draco would have loved it. He honestly didn’t care about the wedding for himself anymore; he just wanted Harry not to hate it and everyone else to love it, and he’d be happy.

            Harry’s impatient voice pulled him out of his reverie. “Are we actually going to buy anything here, or are we just going to argue a while longer and then leave?”

            Draco cocked his head. “You’re right. I’m not feeling the brand.”

            Harry sighed and let himself be pulled to the next store.

            By the time it came up again, Harry was carrying no less than five bags. Draco had convinced him to get an actual pair of trousers that weren’t worn the hell out of and cost more than fifteen pounds, so he was feeling proud of himself.

            Nothing like Harry complaining about the wedding to stomp on one’s enjoyment of an afternoon. “Do we really need that many guests? I mean, I know we can’t exactly say it’s a private event and tell everyone to fuck off- or, I mean, we could, but-”

            “Better to give the press a party?” Draco suggested. He was trying on hats with one hand and hanging onto Harry with the other.

            “Right.” Quite a few weeks of debate had led to that conclusion. Hermione pulling out the most recent royal wedding specials sealed the deal. Harry knew they needed to make it a show, Draco knew he did. Draco also knew Harry hated that. “But, Draco- five hundred?”

            Draco sighed and put on another hat. “We’ve got both our extended families, which I’ve been told is nearly a hundred people, and then all the necessary political guests, which, for both of us combined is another hundred, and after that there’s friends, and you know we won’t get away with inviting less than a hundred on that front-”

            “So, three hundred then? Please?” Harry’s eyes were pleading.

            Draco put the hat back and wandered towards a rack of shirts. He really wanted to give Harry this. He really did. And he agreed. Five hundred was too many. It was Hermione who’d talked Draco up that high in the first place. “I suppose we could get it down to four if we cut down on the speculative invites.”

            “Speculative-? Draco, what exactly is a speculative invite?”

  
            Draco gave him the Look again, trying to make it more sympathetic this time. He’d been through all this with Hermione three times already and didn’t especially like doing it to Harry. “It’s when you’re not sure if someone will come or if you even want to invite them, but you have to do it to be polite.”

            Harry blinked through his disbelief. “Why- Draco, why on earth would we want to invite people we didn’t want to come? And who’s going to say no?”

            “What, because it’s us?”

            “Free food and free booze,” Harry deadpanned.

            “Point taken. So, four hundred maximum, I’ll have to text Hermione by the end of the day.” Draco grinned. That was going to be a fun reply to read.

            And Harry’d finally started to get his bearings with how much planning power he had over the whole thing, which meant Draco could just go to Hermione and say ‘Harry didn’t want five hundred’ and she’d _have_ to listen to him.

            “What about the food?”

            Draco shrugged and pulled Harry into a candy shop. “The Weasley family’s catering. You said it’d be fine.”

             “Yes. Alright. What about the music?”

            “Well, Hermione and I weren’t sure if three bands would be-”

            Harry choked on spit. “ONE. One band. Merlin’s fucking arse, Draco.”

            “Okay! One! Don’t swear around children!”

            Harry gave the candy shop a once-over. “There aren’t any children in here. This place is too expensive for them.”

            “Fair point. Which reminds me, did you want to sign off on the gift bags, or-”

            “Draco.”

            Draco glanced at him with his most innocent expression in place. Because that one had actually been his idea and the only one he really liked and he didn’t want Harry to hate it so much Draco had to cut it. Because it was Draco’s wedding, too. Even if his main goal was ‘don’t torture Harry too much.’ “Yes?”

  
            “When did wedding favors turn into gift bags?”

            “This is a celebrity event.”

            Harry sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. It made the bags flop around everywhere, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Why can’t we just give them one nice thing? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Instead of, you know, turning it into a muggle awards show?”

            “Do they give gift bags at muggle awards shows?”

            “I don’t know, Draco, was that _your_ watch party I attended last week or am I mistaking you for another obnoxious blonde wanker?”

            “Alright. Fine. I’ll cut the awards ceremony stuff. No gold envelopes for the speeches.” He’d never once considered it. Still, Draco couldn’t resist- it’d be that much better when Harry found out Hermione was the extravagant one.

            “Gold-” Harry spluttered. “Draco, how many people were you going to let talk? Is your whole fan club going to have a go on the mic? Maybe a couple of Quidditch teams, tribute to the newlyweds from each player?”  
            “Your fan club’s much bigger. And I don’t think we’ve invited more than the Harpies. We aren’t exactly on speaking terms with the Tornadoes anymore, as you’ll recall.”

            Harry did recall. Vividly, if Draco had to guess. Harry had been furious with him. They’d been kicked out of the stadium mid-game because the Tornadoes found Draco’s heckling overzealous. Harry didn’t want to bring that up, though, apparently. “What about the teachers? How many of them are you inviting?”

            Draco shrugged. “All of them. And all the ones we know that aren’t there anymore, and enough interesting people to keep Slughorn far away from you.” That wasn’t worth joking about; the threat of discomfort was one thing, but Draco would wrestle with a dragon before he let Harry think any part of the ridiculous day might be that bad.

            Harry seemed to grasp this. “Good. Has Professor McGonagall gotten back to you yet?” Harry had been sending her owls intermittently, and he’d warned her well in advance of their wedding- she was out of the country at the moment.

            Draco bit his lip. “I haven’t finalized the invitations. I can’t send her one until they’re finalized.”

            Then Harry gave Draco the Look. “Fine,” Draco said, “Fine, okay, alright, I’ll send it tomorrow. Any other parts of Hermione’s parade you’d like to rain on?”

            “It’s only half Hermione’s parade.”

            Draco smiled. Harry didn’t know a thing. “Twenty-five percent at most. I’m surprised that kept you going so long.”

            Harry nearly dropped his bags.

            Merlin, it was going to be fantastic when he finally realized Draco’s sole responsibility had been reigning Hermione in.

            Draco tried to make up for the perceived indiscretion with a large box of treacle candy. Harry wasn’t letting it go quite so easily, though. “Cake.”

            “What about the cake, darling?” Draco was laying it on thick.

            “Cake,” Harry repeated, following Draco into a bookshop. “I get to pick what the cake looks like.”

            Draco narrowed his eyes. Apart from trying to talk Draco down from making it ‘the wedding of the century,’ Harry hadn’t done much interfering. He’d made it a point to tell Draco that he wanted nothing to do with anything as long as he didn’t hate it too much. Which went along with Draco’s plans well enough.

            Harry took a deep breath. “Is it going to explode?”

            Draco burst out laughing. “Why would I want our wedding cake to exp- oh, Weasley’s Wonderful Confections.” Draco sometimes forgot that there was a whole corner dedicated to trick sweets in the joke shop. Ron and George had broken three hobs in the invention process. “I promise. No exploding.”

            Harry looked satisfied. “Alright. No exploding.”

            “You can pick the cake, if you want. So long as the whole thing isn’t treacle.”

  
            Harry looked happy, then conflicted, then cautious. “Three flavors. I’m not doing more than three.”

  
            Draco grinned. “Whatever you say, husband.”

 

            Honestly, it was a miracle he’d talked Hermione out of live doves.

            “Want to see the reception hall?”

            “Yes.” Merlin, Harry looked nervous.

            Draco took a deep breath and lead him into the room.

            “Oh,” was all Harry said.

            “Hermione did it.”

            Draco was lucky he cast a silencing charm on the reception hall _before_ he said that, because he didn’t know Harry’s voice could go that loud.

            “I’m going to kill her. And hug her, probably,” Harry said, when he was no longer hysterical.

            “As long as she doesn’t get credit for the cake. That one actually was for you. From me. Everything else was Hermione. Oh, and the gift bags. I really wanted those.”

            Harry shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

            “Spend the rest of your life with me.”

            Harry looked at Draco like he couldn’t imagine anything better.

            Draco was inclined to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It took forever for me to get the last chapters out, I know, but I didn't want to leave it with just one left and I had to make sure it wrapped up with them safe and warm at home. Please leave a comment if you like, check out my other works, or find me on tumblr.


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